THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SARAH     REWARDED 

See  page  38 


ELLEN  AID  SABAH; 


OE, 


THE    SAMPLERS. 


Dork: 

PUBLISHED  BY  CAKLTON  &  POKTER, 

SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION,   200  MULBBREY-STREET. 


f; 

^ 


CONTENTS. 


PAO« 

ELLEN   AND   SARAH  J    OB,   THE   SAMPLERS 5 

DECEITFUL  RACHEL J    OR,   THE  CUT   SLEEVE 71 

IERMOT,   THE    FISHER-BOY  OP   INNISKERRY 103 


*>.   4     il       <  ' 

EDUCATION 


PA6B 
SARAH   REWARDED ..  2 

THE   MISTAKE. , 65 

RACHEL  CONFESSING  HER  DECEPTION 68 

DERMOT   AND   HIS   FATHER 100 

DERMOT:S   MOTHER 108 

DERMOT   AT   THE  PARSONAGE 137 

PADDEEN   FINDING   THE   SCRIPTURES 167 

DERMOT'S   BODY   DISCOVERED l?<5 


ELLEN    A.ND    SAEAH; 

OK, 

THE    SAMPLERS. 


PART  I. 

ELLEN  JONES  was  the  only  child  of  a  poor 
widow,  who  lived  in  the  pretty  village  of 
Rosedale.  Her  father  died  when  she  was 
quite  a  baby,  so  that  she  could  not  remem- 
ber ever  to  have  seen  him.  Her  mother 
was  a  clean,  tidy  woman,  and  supported 
herself  and  her  child  by  taking  in  washing 
and  needlework.  She  had  a  sister  living 
in  the  same  village,  whose  husband  was  a 
blacksmith ;  his  name  was  Brown. 

Mrs.  Brown  had  several  children,  the 
eldest  of  whom  was  only  a  year  older  than 


6  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OE, 

her  cousin  Ellen  Jones.  Sarah  (fcr  that 
was  the  name  of  Mrs.  Brown's  eldest 
daughter)  was  an  active,  good-tempered 
girl,  and  of  great  use  to  her  mother  in 
helping  to  look  after  the  children,  and  to 
clean  the  house.  Her  mother  could  not 
spare  her  to  go  to  school,  except  in  the 
afternoon,  as  there  was  plenty  for  her  to 
do  at  home  in  the  morning,  in  order  to 
keep  everything  tidy  and  comfortable. 
Sarah  sometimes  complained,  and  thought 
it  unkind  of  her  mother  to  prevent  her 
from  going  to  school.  She  said  one  day 
to  Mrs.  Stanley,  the  minister's  wife,  that 
it  was  very  hard  to  be  obliged  to  stay  and 
scrub  the  house  when  her  cousin  Ellen 
was  learning  to  read  and  write. 

Mi's.  Stanley  said  in  reply :  "  You  must 
remember,  Sarah,  that  to  stay  at  home 
and  help  your  mother  is  your  duty  now ; 
and  how  could  you  expect  to  be  any  the 
better  for  learning  to  read  and  write,  if, 
in  order  to  do  so,  you  should  neglect  your 
parents?  You  can  read  the  Testament, 


THE  SAMPLERS.  7 

and  you  do  read  it  every  afternoon ;  be- 
sides which,  you  learn  to  work,  which  is 
of  the  greatest  use  to  a  child  who  will 
most  likely,  by  and  by,  go  to  service. 
On  Sunday  you  read  the  Bible  at  the 
Sunday  school,  and  have  it  explained ;  and 
in  church  you  have  an  opportunity  of 
hearing  of  God,  and  of  praying  to  him. 
Rather,  my  child,  be  thankful  for  the 
blessings  you  have,  than  repine  at  what 
you  think  a  hard  lot;  and  show  your 
thankfulness  to  God  and  your  parents  by 
trying  to  perform  well  the  duties  which 
have  fallen  to  your  share." 

Poor  Sarah  left  school  a  little  vexed  at 
what  Mrs.  Stanley  had  said.  She  expected 
to  have  been  told  that  hers  was  a  hard 
case ;  and  she  hoped  that  Mrs.  Stanley 
would  try  to  persuade  her  mother  to  send 
her  to  school  every  morning.  But  the 
wise  and  excellent  lady  judged  rightly, 
that,  next  to  her  God,  Sarah's  first  duty 
was  to  her  parents,  and  that  nothing 
should  interfere  with  that.  However,  she 


8  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OR, 

very  kindly  left  a  tract  occasionally  with 
Mrs.  Brown,  for  Sarah  to  read,  and  showed 
the  little  girl  kindness  in  many  other  ways. 
After  this  Sarah  became  more  contented, 
and  resolved  to  make  the  best  use  of  the 
schooling  she  had,  and  to  hope  for  more 
time  to  improve  herself  when  the  children 
should  be  older. 

Meantime,  her  cousin,  Ellen  Jones,  went 
to  school  every  day,  both  morning  and 
afternoon ;  and,  being  a  quick  child,  she 
got  on  well  with  her  book,  so  that  at  ten 
years  old  she  could  read  and  write  very 
nicely.  Mrs.  Jones  was  much  pleased 
with  her  progress,  and  looked  forward 
with  pleasure  to  the  time  when  Ellen 
should  be  able  to  turn  her  learning  to 
some  use.  Every  morning  and  evening 
she  made  her  little  girl  read  a  chapter  in 
the  Bible  to  her,  after  which  she  questioned 
her  as  to  the  meaning  of  what  she  had 
read.  The  poor  widow  often  said  that 
her  only  comfort  on  earth  was  this  child  ; 
and  she  was  very  anxious  to  do  all  that  a 


THE  SAMPLERS.  9 

parent  could  to  bring  her  up  in  the  right 
path;  and,  in  many  ways,  she  was  re- 
warded for  her  anxiety  and  care. 

At  ten  years  of  age,  Ellen  was  an  indus- 
trious little  girl,  very  fond  of  her  mother, 
clean,  active,  and  desirous  to  do  what  was 
right.  But  h6r  fault  was  vanity ;  and  it 
caused  Widow  Jones  many  an  anxious 
hour.  Ellen  tried  to  read  well,  that  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Stanley  might  tell  her  she  read 
better  than  anybody  else ;  in  work,  writ- 
ing, everything  the  same ;  she  looked  for 
nothing  but  praise;  the  praise  of  her 
neighbors ;  and  unless  there  were  somebody 
present  to  praise  her,  she  did  not  care  how 
she  did  things.  She  looked  down  upon 
her  cousin  Sarah,  and  would  sometimes 
even  tease  her  by  making  her  confess, 
before  her  playfellows,  how  little  she 
knew.  How  careful  children  should  J>e 
to  check  the  first  feelings  of  vanity !  It 
will  make  the  most  good-natured  do  and 
say  unkind  things,  and  even  make  a 
naturally  sincere  child  deceitful. 


10  ELLEN  AND  BAB  AH  ;   OR, 

Poor  Sarah  Brown  felt  very  much  the 
difference  between  herself  and  Ellen ;  and 
more  than  ever  one  afternoon,  when  the 
youngest  Miss  Stanley  came  to  the  school 
with  her  mamma,  and  told  the  children 
that  she  had  brought  some  samplers  with 
her,  and  that  whoever  could  mark  one  the 
best  should  have  a  prize. 

"  I  wish  to  have  the  alphabet  and  a 
verse  of  a  hymn  on  each,"  added  the  young 
lady ;  "  but  remember,  no  girl  must  help 
another,  either  to  spell  the  words  or  to 
mark  them.  Mamma  has  given  me  leave 
to  say  that  you  are  all  to  come  up  to 
the  parsonage  on  my  birthday,  which 
will  be  on  the  30th  of  next  month ;  and  I 
shall  give  a  present  to  the  girl  who  has 
finished  her  sampler  the  most  neatly  by 
that  time."  • 

•  Miss  Lucy  Stanley  then  opened  the 
samplers,  and  asked  her  mamma  to  choose 
which  girls  were  to  have  them.  Several 
of  the  children  had  only  lately  begun  to 
learn  to  mark,  so  it  was  settled  that,  of 


THE  SAMPLERS.  11 

course,  4hey  must  wait  before  beginning 
to  mark  a  white  sampler.  At  last,  with 
the  assistance  of  the  schoolmistress,  ten 
girls  were  chosen ;  the  only  ten  who  could 
mark  well ;  and  to  them  Miss  Lucy  gave 
the  samplers,  with  the  silks  to  mark  each. 
Ellen  Jones  and  Sarah  Brown  were 
among  the  number. 

Mrs.  and  Miss  Stanley  remained  for  a 
short  time  while  the  children  sang  a 
hymn,  and  then  they  went  away;  soon 
after  which  the  mistress  dismissed  the 
children.  Nothing  was  talked  of  all  the 
way  home  but  Miss  Lucy's  samplers  and 
treat;  and  nearly  every  little  girl  went 
home  thinking  that  she  would  be  the  one 
who  would  gain  the  prize.  When  Sarah 
reached  her  father's  house  she  found  one 
of  her  little  sisters  at  the  door  waiting  for 
her.  The  child,  who  could  not  yet  talk, 
pulled  her  by  her  frock  into  the  house. 

"  Come  in,  Sally,"  cried  her  father, 
"  come  in,  my  child ;  and  thank  you  with 
all  my  heart." 


12  PTTT/RN  AND  SARAH  ;    OR, 

"  What  for,  father  ?"  asked  S*rah,  sur- 
prised. 

"  What  for,  child  ?  why,  for  my  shirts 
that  have  been  made  so  neatly,  and,  as 
mother  says,  all  made  by  you.  And  now, 
see  what  I  have  bought  for  you  in  town 
this  afternoon — a  reward  for  your  trouble, 
my  good  little  daughter." 

Sarah  was  indeed  astonished  when  she 
saw  a  warm  woolen  shawl  which  her 
father  had  brought  home ;  and,  as  she 
kissed  and  thanked  him,  she  felt  that  Mrs. 
Stanley  was  right  in  bidding  her  try  to 
help  her  parents.  She  felt  rewarded  for 
the  long,  heavy  hours  she  had  spent  in 
making  the  shirts;  and  she  found  that 
duty  well  performed  will  bring  its  own 
reward.  At  that  minute  she  would  not 
liave  changed  places  with  any  girl  in  Rose- 
dale  School.  After  a  short  time,  however, 
she  began  to  look  less  cheerful,  and  her 
mother  asked  her  what  was  the  matter. 

Sarah  told  her  what  Miss  Stanley  had 
said,  and  then  showed  her  sampler.  "But, 


13 

mother,"  she  added,  "  it  is  of  no  use  for 
me  to  try,  for  I  am  sure  that  I  shajl  never 
be  able  to  gain  the  prize ;  I  can  hardly 
spell  at  all." 

"  JSTever  mind,"  replied  Mrs.  Brown ; 
"  do  your  best,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
your  sampler  will  be  one  of  the  nicest 
when  it  is  finished." 

Sarah  was  cheered  by  what  her  mother 
said ;  and  she  made  up  her  mind  to  try 
and  spell  the  words  of  the  hymn  quite 
right.  It  was  now  time  to  put  the  children 
to  bed ;  so  Sarah  wrapped  her  sampler  up 
carefully  in  a  clean  cloth,  and  laid  it  by 
in  a  drawer.  She  then  went  up  stairs  with 
the  little  ones,  and  did  not  come  down 
again  until  they  were  in  bed,  and  all  their 
clothes  neatly  folded  up. 

But  we  must  now  hear  what  Ellen  said 
when  she  got  home.  She  found  her 
mother  busy  finishing  some  work  that  was 
to  be  taken  home  the  next  day ;  but  not 
too  busy  to  look  at  the  sampler,  and  heai 
of  Mrs.  and  Miss  Stanley's  kindness. 


14:  ELLHTOITD 


SARAH  ;    OB, 


"I  wonder  what  the  prize  will  be, 
mother, "  said  Ellen ;  "  one  thing  I  am  sure 
of,  that  I  shall  get  it,  whatever  it  may  be." 

"  Why  ?"  asked  the  widow. 

"Because  I  do  not  think  any  of  the 
girls  mark  half  as  well  as  I  do ;  and  then, 
as  they  are  to  mark  the  verse  of  a  hymn, 
I  do  not  believe  they  will  be  able  to  spell 
it  right." 

""Who  are  the  other  girls?"  inquired 
her  mother. 

"  Sarah  is  one,  and  you  know  she  can- 
not read  at  all  well ;  then  there  is  Anne 
Roberts,  she  perhaps  may  go  near  to  get 
the  prize;  and  Martha  Phillips  works 
pretty  well,  but  her  sister  can  mark  but 
very  little ;  no  more  can  Jane  and  Mary 
Price,  nor  the  three  Longs." 

"  I  thought,"  answered"  Mrs.  Jones, 
"  that  Margaret  Long  could  work  very 
neatly  and  read  very  well.  It  is  not  long 
ago  that  her  aunt,  who  keeps  the  dry- 
goods  store,  said  that  she  would  take 
her  to  live  with  her,  to  help  keep  her 


THE  SAMPLERS.  15 

accounts  and  look  after  the  store,  only  she 
wished  her  to  write  a  little  better  first." 

"Yes,  so  she  did,"  said  Ellen;  "but 
still  I  think  I  shall  get  the  prize." 

"  I  am  afraid,  Ellen,"  said  her  mother, 
"  that  you  have  too  high  thoughts  of  what 
you  can  do.  By  what  you  say  of  your- 
self, one  would  think  you  could  .do  every- 
thing better  than  any  one  else,  instead  of 
being  a  little  girl  who  has  much  to  learn, 
and  who  cannot  yet  do  anything  well.  If 
you  do  not  take  care^  Ellen,  your  vanity 
will  lead  you  into  trouble." 

"  But,  indeed,  mother,  I  am  not  vain." 

"  What  is  it  but  vanity,  when  I  see  you 
every  day  looking  in  the  glass,  while  you 
put  your  shawl  first  this  way,  then  that  ? 
What  but  vanity  makes  you  ask  contin- 
ually for  gay  ribbons  and  fine  dresses, 
which  are  quite  unsuited  to  your  station  ? 
What  but  vanity  makes  you  think  your- 
self so  much  above  Sarah?  And  what 
but  vanity  now  makes  you  feel  so  sure  of 
doing  better  than  anybody  else  ?  Ellen, 


16  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OR, 

Ellen,  look  at  your  actions,  and  you  wjll 
soon  see  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  vanity 
in  your  heart." 

Ellen  was  vexed.  She  did  not  like  to 
be  told  of  her  faults,  even  by  her  mother ; 
but  she  could  not  help  feeling  that  there 
was  truth  in  what  her  mother  had  said ; 
and  that  evening,  when,  after  reading  a 
chapter  in  the  Bible,  Mrs.  Jones  talked  to 
her  of  the  sin  of  vanity,  and  how  hateful 
it  is  in  the  sight  of  God,  the  little  girl 
resolved  to  try  and  overcome  this  great 
fault.  Alas !  she  forgot  her  own  weakness, 
and  forgot,  also,  to  ask  God,  for  Jesus 
Christ's  sake,  to  help  her;  therefore,  as 
we  shall  see,  she  failed ;  and  her  vanity 
led  her  into  more  sorrow  than  it  had  yet 
done. 

The  children  worked  at  their  samplers ; 
and  as  Miss  Lucy's  birthday  drew  near, 
the  treat  was  talked  of  more  than  ever. 
At  last  the  day  arrived.  The  sun  shone 
brightly,  and  the  sky  was  clear.  Mrs. 
Brown,  who  loved  her  useful  daughter 


THE  SAMPLERS.  IT 

very  much,  had  newly  trimmed  her  bon- 
net with  a  neat  dark  ribbon,  and  had 
washed  a  cotton  dress  for  her,  so  that  with 
her  new  shawl  Sarah  looked  very  tidy  and 
nice.  She  thanked  her  mother;  kissed 
her  and  the  children;  and  ran  away  to 
caL  for  her  cousin.  Her  little  sister  Jane 
cried  to  go  with  her,  and  Sarah  ran  back 
to  kiss  the  little  child  again,  and  left  her 
smiling  at  the  thoughts  of  the  pretty  nose- 
gay she  promised  to  gather  for  her. 

The  evening  before,  Sarah  had  shown 
her  sampler  to  her  father  and  mother; 
they  thought  it  very  well  marked,  and  her 
mother  said  she  was  nearly  sure  Sarah 
must  get  the  prize.  The  verse  marked  on 
her  sampler  was  this  : 

"  Lord,  I  have  pass'd  another  day, 

And  come  to  thank  thee  for  thy  care ; 
Forgive  my  faults,  in  work  and  play, 
And  listen  to  my  evening  prayer." 

Sarah  was  pleased  that  her  father  and 
mother  should  think  her  sampler  so  pretty, 
for  she  had  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
with  it,  as  she  had  had  to  look  in  her 

2 


18  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  J    OK, 

Testament  to  see  liow  most  of  the  words 
were  spelled  before  she  conld  mark  them. 

When  Sarah  reached  her  Aunt  Jones's 
house  she  found  Ellen  not  yet  dressed,  and 
looking  rather  sulky.  As  she  came  in  at 
the  door,  she  heard  her  aunt  say,  "  I  can- 
not help  it,  Ellen ;  I  will  not  allow  you  to 
wear  clothes  unfit  for  your  station,  and  I 
hope  Mrs.  Willis  will  not  give  you  such 
things  again." 

"  I  cannot  go  in  my  old  bonnet,  mother ; 
it  is  so  shabby,"  replied  Ellen.  "  I  trim- 
med this  last  night  on  purpose  to  wear  to- 
day ;  and  I  think  it  is  very  hard  that  you 
will  not  let  me  have  it." 

Mrs.  Jones  now  saw  Sarah,  and  Ellen 
asked  her  cousin  if  she  did  not  think  her 
bonnet  very  pretty. 

"  You  are  a  neat  little  girl,  Sarah,"  said 
her  aunt,  before  the  child  had  time  to 
answer  her  cousin;  "you-look  very  neat; 
and  I  wish  Ellen  would  be  contented  to 
be  the  same." 

"Look,  Sarah,"  said   Ellen;  "mother 


THE  SAMPLERS.  19 

wants  me  to  put  on  that  shabby  old  thing, 
when  I  have  got  this  bonnet  so  prettily 
trimmed." 

"It  is  nearly  half  past  two,"  said  Mrs. 
Jones ;  "  and  if  you  are  not  quick,  Sarah 
cannot  wait  for  you.  Once  for  all,  you 
shall  not  wear  this  gay  ribbon ;  and  if  you 
do  not  like  to  put  on  your  other  bonnet, 
you  may  stay  at  home.  I  will  not  give  in 
to  you  in  this.  It  was  only  vanity  that 
made  you  take  off  a  good  plain  ribbon  for 
this;  so  now  you  must  suffer  for  your 
vanity.  Put  this  on  at  once,  and  go  with 
Sarah ;  or  stay  at  home  and  lose  the  treat." 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Jones  took  the  gayly- 
trimmed  bonnet  up  stairs.  Perhaps  some 
little  girls  will  think  Ellen's  mother  un- 
kind ;  but  if  they  could  know  the  evil  of 
vanity  they  would  think  her  very  kind 
indeed.  Gay  dress,  such  as  Ellen  wished 
for,  was  most  improper ;  and  so  far  from 
admiring  it,  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanley, 
and.every  other  well-j  udging  person,  would 
have  pitied  Ellen  for  trying  to  copy 


20  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  J    OB, 

wealthy  people ;  so  that  she  would  have 
lost  the  good  opinion  of  those  people  whom 
she  most  wished  to  please.  Mrs.  Jones 
knew  both  the  sin  and  the  danger  of  vanity, 
and  she  often  thought  of  her  child's  fail- 
ing, and  prayed  that  God  would  make 
Ellen  see  her  folly  and  sin,  and  teach  her 
to  seek  for  "  the  ornament  of  a  meek  and 
quiet  spirit,  which  is  in  his  sight  of  great 
price." 

Ellen  was  obliged  to  go  in  her  old  bon- 
net, which,  though  tidy  enough,  was  very 
brown  and  shabby.  She  was  rather  out 
of  humor  at  first,  but  soon  recovered  her 
good  temper,  and  she  and  Sarah  talked  of 
the  pleasures  of  the  afternoon. 

"  I  wonder  who  will  get  the  prize  ?"  said 
Sarah,  as  they  got  near  the  parsonage. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Ellen ;  "  who  do  you 
think,  Sarah?" 

They  were  now  joined  by  several  of 
their  companions,  and  everybody  was 
asking  the  same  question. 

"  I  should  think  you  would,  Margaret," 


THE  SAMPLERS.  21 

said  Sarah  to  a  tall  girl  near  her.  "Yon 
work  so  nicely." 

"  But,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  have  had  so 
little  time  that  I  was  obliged  at  last  to 
hurry  with  my  sampler,  and  it  is  not  so 
nicely  done  as  it  might  be." 

"Perhaps  Annie  will  get  it,"  said  Jane 
Price. 

"  Not  she,"  answered  Ellen  ;  "  she  can- 
not work  at  all  well ;  besides,  she  is  such 
a  poor,  sickly  girl,  she  is  hardly  ever  able 
to  come  to  school  three  days  together,  so 
that  she  has  not  learned  much." 

"  I  hope,  though,  that  she  may  get  the 
prize,"  said  Jane.  "  I  arn  sure  I  shall 
not ;  and  I  would  rather  Annie  or  Sarah 
did  than  any  other  of  you." 

"  Sarah !  Sarah  get  the  prize !"  ex- 
claimed Ellen  ;  "  that  is  too  good.  No, 
indeed,  Miss  Jane,  I  should  be  more 
likely  to  get  it,  I  think." 

Sarah  felt  hurt;  she  knew  that  it  was 
not  her  fault  that  she  was  backward,  and 
the  discontent  she  had  so  often  felt  at  hei 


22  ELLEN  AN-D  SARAH  ;    OK, 

lot  was  returning;  but  the  party  had 
reached  the  parsonage,  and  as  the  two 
Misses  Stanley  were  seen  coming  toward 
them,  the  conversation  dropped. 

The  young  ladies  took  the  children  into 
the  garden,  and  showed  them  their  seats. 
Each  little  girl's  name  was  written  on  a 
slip  of  paper,  which  was  put  into  her 
plate,  so  that  there  was  no  confusion. 
Besides  the  children  from  the  Eosedale 
School,  there  were  about  forty  from  a 
neighboring  school  in  which  Mr.  Stanley 
took  an  interest,  so  that  altogether  there 
was  a  large  party.  When  the  children 
had  taken  their  places,  Mr.  Stanley  said 
grace  ;  and  then  cake,  fruit,  and  tea  were 
handed  round.  All  the  time  of  tea  Ellen 
was  uncomfortable.  She  fancied,  like  most 
vain  people,  that  every  one  was  looking 
at  her  ;  and  she  said  to  herself  more  than 
once,  "  I  have  a  great  mind  to  tell  Miss 
Lucy  that  I  have  got  a  nice,  pretty  bonnet 
at  home ;  she  must  wonder  to  see  me  in 
this." 


THE  SAMPLERS.  23 

Now,  it  so  happened,  that  Miss  lucy 
did  not  notice  what  Ellen  had  on,  for  she 
was  busy  during  great  part  of  the  time  in 
trying  to  arrange  a  comfortable  seat  for  a 
poor  little  cripple,  who  had  been  brought 
by  two  elder  sisters ;  and  during  the  rest 
of  the  time  she  was  taking  care  of  a  row 
of  little  girls  who  were  standing  at  a  low 
bench  to  eat  their  share  of  the  feast. 

After  tea  the  children  were  assembled 
on  the  grass  ;  and  Mr.  Stanley  said  a  few 
words  to  them  about  the  faults  he  had 
had  to  complain  of  lately  in  their  conduct, 
and  then  noticed  the  improvements  he 
had  observed.  He  told  them  that  they 
must  remember  that  no  schooling  would 
do  them  real  good  unless  they  tried  to 
practice  what  they  learned.  He  then 
reminded  them  that  God  knew  their 
thoughts,  and  could  always  see  their 
hearts ;  and  that  they  could  not  deceive 
Him,  though  they  might  deceive  man  ; 
and,  he  said,  he  particularly  wished  them 
to  remember  this,  because  he  knew  that 


24  ELLEN  AND  SARAVr  ,   OS, 

some  of  the  children  (he  would  not  men- 
tion their  names)  had  been  very  sly 
lately.  He  then  bid  them  remember  their 
own  weakness,  and  told  them  to  pray  to 
God  for  help  to  do  and  think  what  was 
right ;  and  when  he  had  given  them  some 
more  good  advice,  he  told  the  ten  little 
girls  who  had  had  samplers  to  bring  them 
to  Miss  Lucy. 

-  Ellen  looked  round  her  with  triumph. 
"  Now  for  my  present !"  said  she  to 
herself. 

Miss  Lucy  unfolded  the  samplers,  and 
showed  them  to  her  parents  and  sister. 

"  This,  I  think,  looks  best  done,  Lucy," 
said  Miss  Stanley,  showing  one  to  her 
sister. 

"So  I  thought,  Jane,"  replied  Miss 
Lucy ;  "  but  look,  here  is  another  quite 
as  nicely  done." 

"Whose  is  this?"  asked  Mr.  Stanley, 
holding  one  up. 

"  That  belongs  to  Ellen  Jones,"  was  the 


THE  SAMPLERS.  25 

Ellen  looked  round  at  her  companions 
Now,  who  would  have  the  prize  ?  Who 
was  right? 

At  last  Miss  Stanley  said  to  her  sister, 
"  Well,  Lucy,  I  have  a  prize  that  will  do 
for  one ;  so  suppose  we  give  presents  for 
the  two  best  samplers,  for  really  it  is  not 
possible  to  decide  between  these  two." 

The  young  ladies  then  said  something 
in  a  low  voice  to  their  father  and  mother, 
after  which  Miss  Stanley  went  in  doors. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  returned,  followed 
by  a  servant  carrying  two  parcels. 

Every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  parcels,  as 
Miss  Stanley  and  Miss  Lucy  untied  them ; 
and  each  girl  longed  to  find  that  one  prize 
was  for  her. 

"  I  shall  put  aside,"  said  Mrs.  Stanley, 
11  those  samplers  which  are  marked  by  the 
girls  of  the  second  class,  as,  excepting  one, 
they  are  not  well  done ;  and  the  little  girls 
who  marked  them  shall  have  another  trial 
among  themselves." 

Four  samplers  were  given  back,  and  tho 


20  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OR, 

children  were  told  that  they  should  try 
again  at  Christmas.  Six  were  left. 

"  Anne  Roberts,"  said  Mrs.  Stanley  to 
a  very  delicate-looking  girl,  "your  sampler 
is  one  of  the  two  best,  and  Miss  Lucy 
wishes  to  give  her  present  to  you." 

"  I  will  read  the  verse  marked  on  it 
before  Anne  takes  it  back,"  said  Mr.  Stan- 
ley, "  and  a  very  pretty  verse  it  is.  It 
begins : 

"  '  Thou,  God,  seest  me/ 

Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve, 
For  without  thce  I  cannot  live ; 
Abide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh, 
For  without  thee  I  dare  not  die." 

Miss  Lucy  then  gave  Anne  a  very  nice/ 
strongly-bound  Bible  and  Hymn  Book; 
and  the  clergyman  said  :  "  May  this  holy 
word  be  a  light  to  your  feet,  and  a  lamp 
to  your  paths,  and  God  grant,  that  by 
dayly  study  of  his  word,  with  prayer  for 
his  Spirit  to  help  you,  you  may  be  enabled 
to  walk  in  his  ways.  May  the  holy 
Scripture  be  your  comfort  in  sickness,  and 


THE   SAMPLERS.  27 

your  guide  in  health ;  and  may  yon  ever 
live  according  to  its  rules." 

Anne  thanked  Miss  Lucy  and  the  kind 
clergyman ;  and,  dropping  a  courtesy,  she 
went  back  to  her  place. 

"  Sarah  Brown"  was  the  next  name,  to 
the  great  surprise  and  delight  of  the  little 
•  girl,  who  had  not  at  all  expected  such  good 
fortune. 

"  Sarah  Brown,  Miss  Stanley  has  chosen 
your  sampler  as  equally  well  done  with 
Anne's,"  said  Mrs.  Stanley ;  "  and  I  am 
very  much  pleased  that  it  should  be  so, 
for  it  shows  that  you  try  to  make  the  best 
use  of  the  instruction  which  has  been 
given  you." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Stanley,  "  it 
does ;  and  I  am  very  glad  to  see  a  quiet, 
industrious  little  girl  rewarded."  He  then 
read  the  verse  which  I  have  already  given 
my  readers  from  Sarah's  sampler ;  and,  as 
Miss  Stanley  gave  her  a  handsome  work- 
box,  well  filled  with  needles,  cotton,  thim- 
ble, scissors,  and  everything  a  complete 


28  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OR, 

workwoman  could  want,*  he  said:  "This 
will  be  a  useful  present  to  you,  Sarah,  as 
you  have  a  great  deal  of  work  to  do  at 
home.  While  you  use  it  your  thoughts 
may  be  employed ;  and  if  you  ever  feel 
inclined  to  murmur  at  being  kept  in  doors 
when  your  companions  are  at  play,  let  the 
thought  that  you  are  helping  your  mother, 
who  works  so  early  and  late  for  you  all, 
encourage  you.  By  cheerful  good  temper 
you  may  try  to  set  a  good  example  to  the 
little  children  who  depend  so  much  on  you. 
Above  all,  do  not  neglect  morning  and 
evening  to  offer  up  your  prayers  to  God, 
begging  him  to  forgive  you  where  you 
have  thought  or  done  wrong,  and  asking 
him  for  grace  to  enable  you  to  fulfill  your 
duty  in  that  state  of  life  to  which  it  hath 
pleased  him  to  call  you.  And  now,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Stanley,  "  for  my  present.  I 
shall  have  each  of  these  samplers  framed; 
and  I  hope  that  the  little  girls  to  whom 
they  belong  will  hang  them  in  their  bed- 

0  See  Frontispiece. 


THE  SAMPLERS.  29 

rooms,  and  every  day  repeat  the  verses 
marked  on  them." 

Poor  Ellen  Jones  felt  mortified ;  her 
vanity  had  received  a  severe  blow;  and 
she  whispered  to  Margaret  Long,  "  I  am 
sure  I  ought  to  have  had  a  prize  long 
before  that  stupid  Sarah." 

Mrs.  Stanley  heard  the  whisper,  and, 
calling  Ellen  aside,  she  talked  to  her  for 
some  minutes  about  her  fault  of  vanity. 
"  Look  at  your  sampler,"  said  she  ;  "  you 
know  that  you  can  mark  very  nicely ;  how 
is  it,  then,  that  threads  are  missed,  stitches 
wanting,  and  words  crooked?  Is  it  not 
because  you  were  so  vain  as  to  think  that 
you,  without  giving  any  trouble  to  your 
work,  could  do  it  as  well  as  others  who 
bestowed  time  and  labor  upon  it  ?" 

Ellen  could  not  deny  what  was  so  true. 
"I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Stanley ;  "  and  very  sorry,  too,  for  your 
mother,  who  will  feel  the  disappointment. 
But,  my  child,  if  this  day's  sorrow  should 
help  you  to  cure  yourself  of  the  sin  of 


30  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OE, 

vanity,  you  will  never  have  reason  to 
regret  that  you  lost  the  prize.  I  shall  give 
you  your  sampler,  in  the  hopes  that  the 
sight  of  it  may  sometimes  check  you  when 
you  are  inclined  to  be  vain.  But  now,  go 
and  play  with  your  companions,  and  we 
will  'talk  more  of  this  another  day." 

The  afternoon  was  a  very  happy  one ; 
and  when  the  games  were  over  the  chil 
dren  all  sang  a  hymn ;  after  which  kind 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanley  divided  the  remains 
of  the  feast  among  those  children  who 
had  little  brothers  and  sisters  at  home, 
that  those  who  were  too  young  to  be  pres- 
ent might  still  have  some  pleasure  by 
which  to  remember  Miss  Lucy's  birthday. 

Sarah's  little  twin  sisters,  who  were  only 
three  years  old,  were  delighted  to  see  her, 
and  thought  her  very  kind  to  bring  them 
home  cake.  Her  joy,  too,  was  very  grea 
in  being  able  to  show  her  prize ;  and  she 
felt  more  than  usually  happy  when  her 
parents  kissed  her,  and  said  it  was  a  com- 
fort to  them  to  have  such  a  daughter, 


THE  SAMPLERS.  31 

When  she  went  to  her  bedroom  that  night 
she  prayed  to  God  to  make  her  contented, 
and  to  enable  her  to  keep  the  good  reso- 
lutions sbe  had  formed  of  trying  to  do  as 
Mr.  Stanley  had  advised  her.  She  thought 
of  her  cousin,  and  felt  for  her ;  and  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  go  and  see  her  the 
next  morning  before  breakfast,  and  tell 
her  that  she  heard  both  the  young  ladies 
say  that  Ellen's  sampler  had  the  prettiest 
border  round  it  of  any. 

Ellen  had  a  sad  tale  to  take  home  after 
all  her  boasting.  Mrs.  Jones,  of  course, 
was  sorry  and  disappointed ;  but  she  hoped 
that  Ellen  might  now  see  how  wrong  she 
had  been  in  many  little  things  of  late. 
Poor  Ellen  cried  very  much ;  but,  happily,' 
the  event  of  this  day  had  a  better  effect 
than  mere  crying,  for  the  first  thing  she  did 
the  next  morning  was  to  take  off  the  gay 
ribbon  from  her  bonnet,  and  put  in  its  place 
the  plain  one  she  had  despised  before.  In 
many  other  ways  Mrs.  Jones  found  that 
her  dear  child  was  trying  to  overcome  her 


32  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OK, 

fault ;  and  whenever  Ellen  was  inclined  to 
be  vain,  if  her  mother  did  but  mention  the 
sampler,  she  would  check  herself. 

Perhaps,  at  some  future  time,  we  may 
hear  how  Ellen  and  Sarah  went  on  as 
they  grew  older ;  for  the  present  we  will 
take  leave  of  them.  And  may  all  who 
read  this  little  story  remember,  that  "  God 
resisteth  the  proud,  but  giveth  grace  to 
the  lowly !" 


PART  II. 

Six  years  passed  after  the  first  treat  at 
Rosedale  parsonage ;  and  every  year  Miss 
Lucy  Stanley's  birthday  had  been  kept  in 
the  same  way.  It  now  came  round  again : 
but  the  party  was  a  very  different  one 
from  the  first.  Miss  Stanley  had  been 
married  some  five  years  before  to  a  Mr. 
Douglas,  and  was.  now  present  with  her 
husband  and  two  little  children.  Mar- 


THE  SAMPLERS.  33 

garet  Long,  and  many  others  of  the  older 
girls,  had  left  home,  and  gone  to  service ; 
and  now  the  little  sisters,  to  whom  six 
years  before  they  had  taken  home  cake 
and  fruit,  were  playing  in  their  places. 
Six  years  had  brought  joy  to  some;  sor- 
row to  others. 

Among  the  latter  was  Anne  Roberts, 
the  pale,  delicate  girl  who  had  gained  the 
first  prize  for  marking.  She  had  become 
an  orphan ;  and,  amid  the  deepest  grief 
for  the  loss  of  her  fond  parents,  she  had 
many  anxious  thoughts  as  to  what  she 
could  do  to  get  a  living  for  herself.  George 
Brown  and  his  wife  were  very  sorry  for 
the  poor  girl ;  but  they  were  not  contented, 
like  too  many  people,  with  being  sorry 
only;  they  directly  began  to  think  how 
they  could  help  her.  On  the  evening  after 
Mrs.  Roberta's  death  they  talked  over 
different  plans  they  had  been  thinking  of. 
Sarah  had  been  with  Anne  all  day;  for 
dhe  had  not  yet  been  able  to  find  a  regular 
place  that  her  parents  liked.  She  came  in 


34  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OR, 

for  a  few  minutes  on  her  way  back  from 
the  shop  where  she  had  been  to  buy  some 
tea  and  sugar  for  Anne. 

"  What  do  you  think  can  be  done  for 
the  poor  child,  Sarah  ?"  asked  her  father. 

"I  have  been  thinking,  father — "'  said 
Sarah,  in  a  timid  voice;  and  here  she 
stopped. 

"  "What  have  you  been  thinking,  child  ? 
Come,  speak  up ;  I'm  sure  you  need  not  be 
ashamed." 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  continued 
Sarah,  "  that  if  you  and  mother  would  let 
Annie  come  and  live  with  you,  we  could 
all  help  to  make  her  happy ;  and  then, 
when  I  go  out  to  work,  which  I  hope  I 
shall  soon  do,  I  could  help  to  pay  for  her." 

"  A  good  thought,  and  like  my  Sally !" 
said  her  father. 

"  Very  good,"  replied  her  mother;  "it 
will  be  hard  if  we  cannot  among  us  do 
something  for  her,  poor  child !" 

"And  now,  as  you  were  the  first  to 
think  of  it,  you  shall  go  down  and  tell 


THE  SAMPLERS.  35 

Annie  yourself  about  it,"  said  George 
Brown. 

Sarah  ran  off  delighted.  She  had 
thought  very  often  of  poor  Anne ;  and  the 
words  of  our  blessed  Saviour  had  more 
than  once  come  into  her  mind,  "  Whatso- 
ever ye  would  that  men  should  do  unto 
you,  even  so  do  ye  also  unto  them."  She 
thought  how  forlorn  she  should  feel,  if  left, 
as  Anne  was,  alone  in  the  world  and  help- 
less ;  and  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she 
would  ask  her  parents'  consent  to  her  plan. 
Something  like  it  had  occurred  to  Brown 
and  his  wife,  just  as  Sarah  came  into  the 
cottage ;  and  when  she  proposed  it  they 
were  quite  ready  to  agree. 

And  here  it  would  be  well  to  observe 
what  a  good  use  Sarah  was  making  of  the 
instruction  she  had  had.  Mrs.  Stanley's 
advice  to  her,  to  try  to  perform  her  duties 
faithfully,  and  not .  to  murmur  at  her  lot 
in  life,  but  rather  to  be  thankful  for  the 
blessings  she  enjoyed,  had  made  a  deep 
impression  upon  her,  and  had  had  the  good 


36  ELLEN   AND    SARAH  ;    OK, 

effect  -of  leading  her  to  think  every  night 
over  her  conduct  during  the  day.  While 
she  prayed  to  God  for  his  Spirit  to  enable 
her  to  walk  in  the  right  path,  she  also  set 
herself  sincerely  to  work  to  do  her  best. 
She  tried  to  profit  by  what  she  daily  read 
in  the  Bible,  and  she  really  wished  to 
make  it  the  rule  o£,her  life. 

Thus,  although  she  very  likely  could  not 
talk  so  well  about  religion  as  many  little 
girls  could,  she  had  more  wish  to  practice 
it ;  and  did  really  practice  it  far  more  than 
most  great  talkers.  A  great  many  grown- 
up people,  as  well  as  little  girls,  fall  into 
the  mistake  of  thinking  that  they  are  re- 
ligious because  they  know  a  great  many 
texts  and  hymns,  and  can  talk  well,  and 
they  fancy  that  nothing  more  is  neces- 
sary ;  but  such  persons  forget  our  Saviour's 
words,  that  "the  tree  is  known  by  its 
fruits /"  and  that,  in  the  same  way,  real 
religion  shows  itself  in  actions,  and  not  in 
<vords  only. 

Sarah  had  naturally  a  high  temper,  and 


THE  SAMPLERS.  37 

this  temper  led  her  often  to  do  and  say 
what  was  wrong ;  but  since  she  had  begun 
to  think  more,  and  to  try  more  to  do  what 
she  knew  to  be  right,  she  had  struggled  to 
overcome  this  fault.  It  would  still  often 
break  out,  and  lead  her  into  trouble ;  but 
now  she  was  sorry  when  this  happened ; 
and,  instead  of  wishing  always  to  make 
out  that  she  had  been  right,  she  would 
confess  herself  in  the  wrong, 

Sarah,  as  I  said  before,  was  delighted 
to  find  that  her  father  and  mother  would 
agree  to  her  plan  for  Anne  Roberts ;  and, 
when  she  got  back  to  Anne,  she  told  her 
of  what  they  had  been  talking.  But  Sarah 
had  more  trouble  in  making  Anne  come 
to  her  father's  house  than  she  had  had  in 
getting  her  parents  to  receive  her.  Anne 
said  that  she  was  afraid  she  should  be  a 
burden  to  them ;  for  she  could  not  earn 
enough  to  pay  them.  She  was  very  grate- 
ful to  them  for  their  kindness ;  but  she  did 
not  like  to  live  upon  them  when  they  had 
such  a  large  family  to  keep,  and  Sarah 


38  ELLEN   AND   SARAH;   OR, 

had  not  as  yet  heard  of  a  .place.  Sarah 
talked  to  Anne  for  a  long  time,  till  at  last 
Anne  said  that  she  would  come,  and  that 
she  would  do  her  best  to  be  of  use  to  her 
kind  friends.  The  day  after  her  mother's 
funeral  Mrs.  Brown  took  the  poor>  forlorn 
girl  to  her  own  house,  which,  from  that 
time',  became  Anne's  home. 

Anne  could  plait  straw  very  nicely  ;  and 
this  plait  she  was  able  sometimes  to  sell 
at  Belford.  Besides  this,  she  could  work 
very  well,  so  that  she  managed  to  gain  a 
small  sum  now  and  then,  and  was  often  of 
great  help  to  Mrs.  Brown.  Still,  George 
Brown  and  his  wife  were  very  anxious 
that  Sarah  should  meet  with  a  place,  as 
it  was  necessary  she  should  do  something 
to  help  her  parents,  especially  now  that 
Anne  was  added  to  the  family. 

It  has  been  said  before  that  Miss  Lucy 
Stanley's  birthday  had  come  round  again, 
and  that  her  sister,  Mrs.  Douglas,  was  on 
a  visit  at  the  parsonage. 

Late  in  the  evening  a  message  came  to 


THE  SAMPLERS  39 

say  that  Mrs.  Stanley  wished  to  see  Mrs. 
Brown,  so  Mrs.  Brown  walked  up  to  the 
parsonage,  and  did  not  return  for  some 
time.  When  she  came  back  she  told 
Sarah  that  Mrs.  Douglas  wished  to  speak 
to  her  in  the  morning,  and  that  she 
was  kind  enough  to  say  she  would  take 
Sarah  into  her  service.  Sarah  was  very 
much  pleased.  She  had  been  much 
attached  to  Miss  Stanley,  and  would 
rather,  she  said,  live  with  her  than  with 
any  one  else. 

The  next  morning  she  dressed  herself 
neatly,  and  went  up  to  the  parsonage.  In 
another  fortnight  she  had  wished  her  father 
and  mother  "good-by,"  and  had  leftRose- 
dale  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Douglas. 

But  what  had  become  of  Ellen  Jones  all 
this  time  ? 

Mrs.  Jones  had,  about  a  year  before 
this,  heard  of  a  place  for  her  child.  It 
was  as  housemaid  to  a  widow  lady,  who, 
with  her  two  daughters,  lived  in  a  small 
town  about  fifteen  miles  from  Rosedale. 


40  ELLEN  AND  SAKAH  ;    OK, 

This  lady  had  known  Mrs.  Jones  some 
years  before,  but  had  lost  sight  of  her,  and 
only  heard  of  her  again  through  a  lady 
for  whom  Mrs.  Jones  had  been  doing  some 
plain  work.  When  good  Mrs.  Seymour 
was  told  that  Jane  Jones  was  a  widow, 
and  living  at  Rosedale,  she  drove  over  to 
see  her,  and  asked  her  what  she  could  do 
for  her.  Mrs.  Jones  was  very  much  pleased 
to  see  so  kind  a  friend,  and,  encouraged 
by  Mrs.  Seymours  manner,  she  said  that 
her  greatest  anxiety  was  about  her  child. 
Mrs.  Seymour  asked  to  see  Ellen,  and  then 
offered  to  take  her  into  her  service.  Poor 
Mrs.  Jones  was  most  thankful ;  for,  with 
Ellen's  vanity,  she  felt  it  was  of  great 
importance  for  her  to  meet  with  a  mistress 
who  would  take  the  trouble  to  check  it. 

Before  Ellen  left  home  her  mother  spoke 
to  her  very  gravely.  She  told  her  that 
now  that  she  was  going  to  service,  where 
she  could  no  longer  always  have  some  one 
to  warii  her  when  she  was  tempted  to  be 
vain,  it  was  the  more  necessary  that  she 


THE  SAMPLERS.  41 

should  learn  to  watch  herself.  Mrs.  Jones 
gave  her  much  advice  as  to  her  conduct, 
and  Ellen  promised  that  she  would  try  to 
follow  it.  She  meant  what  she  said  ;  but 
Ellen's  resolutions,  like  those  of  many 
other  people,  were  quickly  made,  and 
almost  as  quickly  broken. 

The  next  morning,  after  the  first  grief 
of  parting  with  her  mother  was  a  little 
gone  off,  she  began  to  think  of  how  Mrs. 
Seymour  would  like  her  bonnet,  and  what 
the  cook  would  think  of  her,  and  whether 
the  youn^  ladies  would  think  her  prettier 
than  the  last  housemaid.  Then  she  put 
her  shawl  on  afresh,  anvd  pulled  her  cap  a 
little  more  forward,  and  did  many  other 
things  to  make  herself  look  pretty. 

While  she  was  doing  this,  she  began  to 
wish  that  her  mother  would  allow  her  to 
wear  finer  clothes ;  then  she  thought  that 
she  should  now  soon  have  money  of  her 
own,  and  she  could  do  as  she  liked  with 
that.  But  at  this  moment  she  happily 
remembered  that  her  mother  was  very 


4:2  ELLEN   AND    8AKAH  J   OR, 

much  in  want  of  a  warm  cloak ;  and  with 
her  mother  and  the  cloak  came  thoughts 
of  home,  then  of  the  sampler  in  her  little 
bedroom,  and  Ellen  could  hardly  help 
crying.  She  recollected,  too,  what  her 
mother  had  said  to  her  about  vanity,  and 
felt  sorry  and  ashamed  that  she  should 
already  have  given  way  to  it ;  so  for  this 
time  her  fault  was  checked ;  and  during 
the  first  month  that  she  was  in  service  it 
did  not  show  itself  in  any  way  that  could 
lead  her  into  trouble.  She  had  enough  to 
do  to  learn  her  work  during  the*day.  and 
was  too  tired  at  night  to  be  able  to  think 
of  herself.  But  after  a  time  she  began  to 
fancy  she  knew  how  to  do  everything 
well,  and  she  did  not  like  to  be  found 
fault  with ;  neither  would  she  ever  ask  for 
advice. 

It  happened  one  day  that  the  young 
ladies  were  going  to  spend  the  evening 
with  a  friend,  and,  after  breakfast,  Mrs. 
Seymour  told  Ellen  to  iron  their  muslin 
dresses.  Ellen  took  them  down  stairs, 


THE   SAMPLERS.  43 

and  the  cook  asked  her  if  she  could  help 
her. 

"  JSTo,  thank  you,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  can  do 
them  very  well." 

"I  will  help  you  willingly,  if  you  like," 
said  the  cook.  "The  young  ladies  are 
very  particular,  and,  perhaps,  you  have 
not  been  much  used  to  this  sort  of  work." 

"  It  would  be  very  strange  if  I  could 
not  do  such  an  easy  thing  as  this,"  replied 
Ellen,  coloring  with  vexation. 

"Very  well,"  answered  the  cook,  "if 
3£pu  do  not  wish  for  help,  I  have  plenty 
to  do,  and  cannot  spare  time  for  talking." 

So  away  went  the  cook ;  and  Ellen,  full 
of  herself  and  what  she  could  do,  began 
to  iron  the  dresses. 

She  had  never  been  used  to  ironing,  for 
her  mother  had  generally  given  her  some 
of  the  needlework  to  do,  and,  therefore, 
she  did  not  know  very  well  how  to  set 
about  her  task.  However,  having  refused 
the  cook's  help,  she  would  not  humble 
herself  to  ask  it  now.  She  got  on  pretty 


44  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;   OB, 

well  at  first,  but  soon  her  thoughts  began 
to  wander  to  the  ribbons  and  powers  she 
had  seen  in  a  shop  window  in  the  town 
one  day,  when  she  had  been  sent  on  a 
message.  When  the  cook  returned,  in 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  she  smelled 
something  burning,  and,  on  looking  to 
see  what  it  could  be,  she  found  that  Ellen 
was  burning  Miss  Seymour's  dress  with 
too  hot  an  iron. 

"  There's  a  nice  piece  of  work !"  she 
exclaimed  ;  "  what  is  to  be  done  now?" 

Ellen  started :  her  thoughts  were  in  M& 
Smith's  shop. 

"  What  ?"  she  said. 

"  What,  indeed  !  Look  at  the  hole,  you 
careless  girl !  That  is  just  like  you:  too 
vain  to  take  help,  and  too  foolish  to  be 
able  to  do  for  yourself.  Here's  a  pretty 
business !" 

"I'm  sure  I  did  not  mean  any  harm," 
returned  Ellen.  "Mother  always  makes 
her  irons  hot ;  I've  seen  them  red-hot 
numbers  of  times." 


THE  SAMPLERS.  45 

"  I  dare  say ;  but  she  takes  good  care 
not  to  burn  the  clothes,  I  warrant  you. 
And  look  here!  you  have  blacked  the 
whole  of  one  sleeve  for  want  of  wiping 
your  iron." 

"What  can  I  do?"  said  Ellen.  "I  never 
can  take  this  up  stairs ;  do  tell  me  what  to 
do." 

"  I  do  not  know,  indeed,"  answered  the 
cook :  "  you  must  do  the  best  you  can. 
You  had  better  go  and  tell  the  young  la- 
dies what  you  have  done." 

"  Will  you  go  for  me?"  said  Ellen ;  "/ 
cannot  go  ;  do  go  for  me." 

"  No,"  said  the  cook,  "  I  shall  not  go. 
Go  yourself.  It  will  be  a  lesson  to  you 
for  the  time  to  come.  You  were  thinking 
of  yourself,  or  of  some  such  vanity,  and 
now  you  must  suffer  for  it.  I  dare  say  you 
think  I  am  very  unkind,"  she  added,  as 
the  tears  rose  to  Ellen's  eyes,  "but  you 
will  find  out,  when  you  get  older,  that 
it  is  the  kindest  thing  I  can  do  to  make 
you  suffer  for  your  fault  now.  So  make 


4:6  »     ELLEN  AND  8ABAH  ;    OR, 

haste,  and  go  directly  with  the  dress  to  the 
drawing-room." 

The  cook  was  so  decided  that  Ellen 
found  she  must  go ;  and,  with  a  beating 
heart,  she  knocked  at  the  drawing-room 
door.  Mrs.  Seymour  told  her  to  come  in ; 
and  in  she  went  with  the  dress  in  her 
hand.  As  may  be  supposed,  her  mistress 
was  very  much  displeased ;  the  more  so, 
because,  as  she  crossed  the  hall  in  the 
morning,  she  had  heard  the  cook  offer  to 
help  Ellen.  Mrs.  Seymour  kept  Ellen  for 
some  minutes,  and  spoke  to  her  very 
plainly  about  her  vanity ;  adding,  as  she 
sent  her  away,  "  But  I  fear,  Ellen,  that  • 
you  will  never  be  cured  of  it  till  it  has 
brought  you  to  worse  trouble  than  this." 

For  some  time  things  went  on  pretty 
well.  The  burned  dress  served  as  a  warn- 
ing; and,  for  a  few  weeks,  Ellen  was  on 
her  guard. 

Meanwhile,  Sarah  was  learning  her 
duties  as  nursery-maid.  She  did  not  find 
it  so  easy  as  she  expected.  There  were 


THE  SAMPLERS.  4:7 

many  trials  of  her  temper  and  patience, 
and  she  found  it  very  difficult  to  control 
herself.  Then,  as  she  was  not  used  to 
have  much  to  think  of,  she  would  some- 
times forget  what  she  was  told  to  do ; 
and,  of  course,  the  nurse  found  fault  with 
her  for  being  careless.  Then  her  temper 
would  rise,  and  she  was  tempted  to  an- 
swer rudely.  It  was  not  often,  however, 
that  she  forgot  herself  and  became  saucy ; 
and  when  she  did,  she  was  so  truly  sorry, 
and  so  ready  to  confess  her  fault,  that  it 
was  willingly  forgiven. 

She  was  a  great  favorite  witlj  the  chil- 
dren, for  she  was  always  good-tempered 
in  playing  with  them,  and  ready  to  do 
anything  to  amuse  them.  She  was  also 
active  and  obliging,  so  that  every  one  in 
the  house  liked  her.  Even  the  nurse, 
who  had  more  trouble  with  her  than  any 
one  else,  was  fond  of  her,  and  said  more 
than  once  that  she  wished  she  might 
always  have  as  nice  a  girl  under  her. 
Mrs.  Douglas  was  very  kind  to  Sarah  ; 


4:8  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OR, 

she  would  have  her  to  read  the  Bible  to 
her  very  often,  and  took  a  great  deal  of 
trouble  to  teach  her  what  was  right. 

Sarah  had  not  lived  many  months  in 
Mrs.  Douglas's  service,  when  she  had  a 
letter  one  day  from  her  mother,  saying 
that  her  father  had  had  a  kick  from  a 
horse  that  he  was  shoeing,  and  that  he 
was  very  ill.  The  next  day  brought  an- 
other letter  from  Anne  Roberts,  to  say 
that  he  was  dead,  and  her  mother  ill. 
This  was  indeed  a  great  grief  to  Sarah, 
for  she  dearly  loved  her  father.  Mrs. 
Douglas  was  very  kind,  and  told  her  that 
she  should  go  home  for  a  few  days  until 
her  mother  should  have  got  over  the 
shock.  So  Sarah  went  home ;  and  a 
great  comfort  it  was  to  her  to  have  Anne 
with  her. 

Poor  Anne !  it  was  a  pleasure  to  her  to 
have  some  way  of  returning  the  kindness 
that  she  had  received  from  the  Browns. 
She  nursed  Mrs.  Brown,  comforted  Sarah, 
n ml  took  care  of  the  children,  who  were 


THE  SAMPLERS.  49 

as  fond  of  her  as  if  she  were  their  sister. 
Sarah  remained  at  home  for  a  fortnight ; 
during  which  time  the  forge  was  sold  to  a 
respectable  young  man  in  Rosedale,  and 
Mrs.  Brown  took  a  small  house  next  to 
the  one  in  which  her  sister,  Widow  Jones, 
lived. 

Anne  still  lived  with  her,  and  earned 
something  toward  their  support.  Indeed, 
she  was  like  another  daughter  to  Mrs. 
Brown;  and,  some  years  after,  even  the 
offer  of  a  share  in  a  business,  as  straw- 
bonnet  maker,  could  not  make  her  leave 
her.  Mrs.  Brown  had  by  that  tim%  got 
all  her  children  out  in  the  world ;  and 
Anne  said  she  would  stay  with  her  as 
long  as  she  lived.  She  took  work  from 
the  shop,  and  this,  together  with  a  little 
money  that  George  Brown  and  his  wife 
had  saved  in  his  lifetime,  enabled  them 
to  live  comfortably.  Mrs.  Brown  often 
thanked  God  for  his  goodness  in  sending 
her  this  faithful  friend,  while  Anne  also 
was  grateful  to  Him  for  giving  her  such 


50  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;   OK, 

a  home,  and  such  a  kind  parent  in  the 
place  of  her  own. 

How  true  are  these  sacred  words:  "He 
that  giveth  unto  the  poor  lendeth  unto 
the  Lord ;  and  look,  whatsoever  he  giveth, 
it  shall  be  paid  unto  him  again  !"  There 
are  none  so  poor  that  they  cannot  assist 
their  neighbors  in  some  way ;  and,  how- 
ever trifling  that  assistance  may  be,  let  it 
but  be  given,  and  given  willingly,  and  it 
will  meet  with  its  reward. 

Sarah  returned  to  her  good  mistress, 
wishing  more  than  ever  to  do  well;  and 
she^)ften  thought  of  Mrs.  Stanley's  advice 
to  her,  some  years  before,  to  try  and  per- 
form the  duties  belonging  to  the  station 
in  which  God  had  placed  her,  rather  than 
murmur  because  she  had  not  the  bless- 
ings that  some  others  had. 

She  now  served  Mrs.  Douglas  faithful- 
ly, never  wasting  her  time,  or  doing  what 
she  knew  her  mistress  would  dislike.  In- 
deed, Mrs.  Douglas  was  so  pleased  with 
her,  that  when,  after  some  years  had 


THE  SAMPLERS.  51 

passed,  the  nurse  married  and  left  service, 
she  made  Sarah  nurse,  which  situation 
she  still  holds,  and  is  much  respected  and 
beloved,  by  all  who  know  her.  She  puts 
by  something  every  year  from  her  wages, 
by  which  she  is  able  to  help  her  mother ; 
for  though  Anne  Roberts  has  regular 
work  from  the  straw-shop  at  Belforcl,  she 
is  very  glad  of  a  little  help  every  year 
toward  paying  the  rent. 

But  to  return  to  Ellen.  Her  vanity  was 
not  yet  cured.  She  still  looked  for  the 
praise  of  her  neighbors  as  the  chief  good 
she  could  have.  Yet,  to  do  her  justice, 
there  were,  times  when  she  thought  less 
foolishly,  and  when  she  resolved  to  strive 
against  her  fault.  The  mischief  was,  that 
Ellen  always  tried  in  her  own  strength, 
and,  therefore,  as  might  be  expected,  was 
always  failing.  Her  cousin  Sarah,  whom 
she  looked  down  upon  as  stupid,  was 
really  the  wiser  of  the  two.  She,  with 
humble  consciousness  of  her  own  weak- 
ness, always  prayed  for  Divine  help ;  while 


52  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OR, 

Ellen  fancied  she  had  only  to  try  to  be 
sure  of  doing  right.  She  could  talk  of 
not  being  able  of  ourselves  to  do  "  any 
good  thing,"  but  when  she  had  done  talk- 
ing she  had  -done  thinking. 

One  evening  in  the  summer,  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour, who  was  very  kind  to  the  poor, 
wished  to  send  some  broth  down  to  a 
family,  some  of  whom  were  sick.  Her 
daughters  were  away  from  home,  and  she 
was  not  very  well  herself;  she,  therefore, 
gave  orders  to  the  cook  that  the  broth 
should  go  down  to  the  poor  people,  and 
then  went  to  lie  down,  saying  that  she  did 
not  wish  to  be  disturbed  until  she  should 
ring  her  bell. 

The  cottage  was  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  the  town,  and  as  the  cook  knew  the 
way,  she  said  that  she  would  take  the 
broth,  and  charged  Ellen  to  be  attentive 
to  their  mistress  while  she  was  gone. 

The  cook  went  away,  and  Ellen  sat 
down  in  the  kitchen  with  her  work,  and 
began  to  think  how  pleased  her  mother 


THE  SAMPLERS.  53 

would  be  to  see  her,  for  Mrs.  Seymour  had 
promised  her  a  week's  holiday  very  soon, 
to  go  home.  Ellen  was  very  fond  of  her 
mother,  and  she  had  saved  five  dollars 
from  her  wages,  which  she  intended  to 
take  home  as  a  present.  It  had  cost  her 
something  to  save  this  ;  for  whenever  she 
had  any  money  the  temptation  to  spend  it 
at  Mr.  Smith's  shop,  in  ribbons  and  laces, 
was  great ;  but  Ellen's  love  for  her  mother 
saved  her  from  fine  dress,  although  she 
was  fond  of  it.  She  had  one  day  very 
nearly  bought  a  smart  ribbon,  but,  just  as 
she  was  turning  into  the  shop,  she  remem- 
bered her  mother's  old  worn-out  cloak,  and 
the  money  was  put  back  into  her  pocket, 
and  was  part  of  the  five  dollars  that  she 
now  hoped  so  soon  to  take  home.  She  sat 
for  some  time  fancying  her  mother's  pleas- 
ure and  surprise  on  seeing  her,  what  they 
should  talk  of  the  first  evening,  and  many 
other  things,  when  she  heard  her  mistress's 
bell  ring. 

She  ran  up  stairs,  and  found  Mrs.  Sey 


54  ELLEN  AND  SABAH  ;    OK, 

mour  looking  very  poorly,  and  lying  on 
the  sofa. 

"  Ellen,"  she  said,  "  run  down  for  a 
glass,  and  give  me  some  of  that  medicine 
that  Mr.  Black  sent." 

Ellen  soon  returned,  and  was  rather  un- 
easy to  see  her  mistress  nearly  fainting. 
But  she  was  a  quick,  active  girl,  and  made 
up  her  mind  to  do  her  best  till  the  cook 
should  come  home. 

"  Can  you  read  which  is  the  right  of 
those  two  bottles  ?"  asked  her  mistress. 

"  O  yes,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  know 
very  well ;  I  have  seen  cook  pour  it  out 
before  now." 

"  Be  sure  you  look,  or  bring  the  bottle 
here  for  me  to  see." 

Ellen  was  vexed  that  her  mistress  should 
doubt  her.  However,  she  was  obliged  to 
show  the  bottles. 

"  One  teaspoonful,"  said  Mrs.  Seymour, 
faintly,  "  in  a  little  water." 

But  Ellen  would  not  hear.  "  Did  Mrs. 
Seymour  think  she  could  not  read  ?"  She 


THE   MISTAKE. 


THE  SAMPLERS.  57 

was  quite  affronted,  and  said  to  herself 
that  Sjhe  would  show  she  knew  how  to 
give  medicine  as  well  as  anybody.  She 
came  with  the  glass,  and  raised  her  mis- 
tress up  to  drink  the  medicine.  She  then 
sat  down  near  her  for  some  time,  until  she 
heard  the  cook  ring  at  the  back  door, 
when  she  went  "down  to  let  her  in. 

"  Mistress  is  but  poorly,"  she  said ;  "but 
I  gave  her  her  medicine,  and  she  has  gone 
to  sleep." 

"  Which  did  you  give  her  ?"  asked  the 
eook. 

"  Out  of  the  small  bottle,"  replied  Ellen. 
"Fancy!  mistress  thought  I  could  not 
read  the  name ;  but  I  did,  and  all  right 
too." 

"  She  was  quite  right,"  said  the  cook  ; 
"  it  does  not  do  to  play  with  doctor's  stuff. 
I  have  heard  before  now  of  people  being 
killed  by  mistakes  with  it." 

"  As  if  I  should  do  such  a  thing !"  said 
Ellen.  "  Not  I ;  I  can  read  the  names  on 
the  bottles  with  any  one.  Why,  people 


58  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  J    OK, 

who  make  such  mistakes  must  be  born 
idiots !" 

"  Softly,"  said  the  cook.  "  I  know  some 
one  who  has  such  great  notions  of  herself 
that  I  expect  her  conceit  will  have  to  come 
down  some  day." 

"  Do  you  mean  me  ?  Are  you  saying 
that  at  me  ?"  asked  Ellen. 

"Come!"  said  the  cook,  "I  do  not  want 
to  quarrel ;  let  us  live  in  peace.  All  I 
mean  to  say  is,  that  it  is  a  pity  you  always 
think  you  know  everything  better  than 
any  one  else.  You  will  find  the  evil  of  it 
some  day.  But  never  mind  now.  Get  a 
tray,  and  a  cup  and  saucer,  and  I  will 
take  a  cup  of  tea  up  to  mistress." 

The  cook  took  the  tea  up  stairs,  but  she 
had  hardly  reached  Mrs.  Seymour's  room 
before  the  bell  rang  loudly. 

Ellen  went  up. 

"Kun  off  for  Mr.  Black  this  instant, 
Ellen,"  cried  the  cook.  "  Mistress  is  very 
ill,  I  am  sure  ;  what  can  be  the  matter  ?" 

True  enough.     Mrs.  Seymour  was  very 


THE  SAMPLERS.  59 

ill ;  she  was  in  a  deep,  heavy  sleep,  and 
nothing  would  wake  her. 

Ellen  flew  to  Mr.  Black's  house,  and  in 
a  very  short  time  the  doctor  arrived,  to 
poor  Mrs.  Cook's  joy. 

He  asked  a  great  many  questions  as  to 
what  her  mistress  had  taken,  and  made 
Ellen  show  him  the  medicine  she  had 
given.  All  seemed  right,  till  at  last  the 
cook  said,  "  How  much  did  you  give 
her?" 

"  What  you  always  give,"  said  Ellen — 
"  a  tablespoonful." 

"  A  tablespoonful !  that  is  it,"  said  Mr. 
Black,  hastily ;  "  you  have  killed  your 
mistress." 

Ellen  was  almost  beside  herself.  The 
only  thing  she  could  do  was  to  fly  about 
here  and  there  for  what  Mr.  Black  wanted.. 
The  horror  of  having,  perhaps,  caused  the 
death  of  her  kind  mistress  was  very  great, 
and  how  much  greater  when  her  vain  boast- 
ings came  into  her  mind !  It  was  long  be- 
fore Mrs.  Seymour  shewed  any  signs  of  life. 


60  ELLEN  AND  8ABAH  ;    OK, 

All  had  been  done  that  could  be  done ; 
and  at  last  she  opened  her  eyes.  Mr. 
Black  stayed  all  night ;  and  the  cook  and 
Ellen  sat  up,  to  be  ready  to  get  anything 
he  might  want. 

"O!  cook,  what  shall  I  do?  where  shall 
I  go  ?"  sobbed  Ellen.  "  I  wish  I  was  dead, 
or  that  I  had  never  come  here." 

"Do  not  wish  that,"  said  the  cook. 
"  You  are  not  fit  to  die." 

"  Every  one  will  hate  me,  and  I  shall 
feel  so  wicked.  O  dear !  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Send  me  home,  cook  ;  do  send  me  home." 

"  No,"  replied  the  cook  gravely,  "  I 
cannot  let  you  go  home.  You  must  stay 
till  we  see  whether  poor  mistress  will  get 
over  it." 

"  Do  not  talk  that  way,  cook,  unless  you 
want  to  drive  me  mad.  I  shall  die  if—" 

The  ringing  of  the  bell  stopped  their 
conversation.  The  cook  went  up  to  see 
what  was  wanted,  and  soon  came  back, 
saying  that  her  mistress  was  better.  But 
Ellen  could  not  be  c^taforted.  She  could 


THE  SAMPLERS.  61 

not  forgive  herself ;  and  a  kind  message 
from  Mrs.  Seymour  only  caused  a  fresh 
burst  of  tears.  The  poor  girl's  agitation 
was  so  great  that  it  brought  on  a  fever, 
which  laid  her  up  for  some  weeks. 

The  young  ladies  came  home  as  soon 
as  they  heard  of  their  mamma's  illness, 
and  Miss  Seymour  was  very  good  to 
Ellen.  As  soon  as  Ellen  began  to  get 
better  she  would  go  and  sit  with  her,  and 
talk  kindly  to  her.  One  evening  she  ask- 
ed her  if  she  would  like  to  see  her  mamma. 

Ellen  did  not  answer. 

"  Mamma  told  me  she  would  come  and 
sit  with  you,"  said  the  young  lady.  "  She 
is  a  great  deal  better,  and  she  has  some- 
thing to  say  to  you ;  but  I  begged  her  not 
to  come  till  I  could  tell  you  first." 

"  She  must  hate  me :  she  will  send  me 
away,"  said  Ellen. 

"No,"  replied  Miss  Seymour,  "she  does 
not  hate  you.  She  is  too  good  to  hate  any- 
body, and  you  will  feel  happier  when  you 
have  seen  her." 


62  ELLEN  AND  SARAH  ;    OR, 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  softly 
and  Mrs.  Seymour  came  in.  Her  daughter 
left  the  room,  and  Ellen  once  more  found 
herself  alone  with  her  mistress.  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour was  very  kind — more  kind  than 
Ellen  deserved.  She  asked  how  she  was, 
read  a  letter  to  her  from  her  mother,  which 
had  just  come,  and  told  her  that  she  hoped 
the  next  week  that  she  would  be  able  to 
<go  home  for  a  change  of  air.  Ellen  burst 
into  tears,  and  begged  Mrs.  Seymour  to 
forgive  her. 

"  I  have  long  forgiven  you,  Ellen,"  said 
her  mistress.  "  You  have  suffered  for 
your  fault ;  and  I  trust  that  what  you  have 
felt  will  be  a  warning  to  you  for  the  time 
to  come.  Let  us  thank  God  that  the  mis- 
take was  found  out  in  time  to  save  you 
from  even  more  sorrow." 

Ellen  then  told  her  mistress  that  the 
mistake  was  owing  to  her  being  vexed  at 
having  to  show  the  bottles.  She  thought 
she  knew  very  well  what  was  to  be  done, 
and  she  had  not  looked  at  the  label  of  the 


THE  SAMPLERS.  63 

bottle.  She  confessed  that  she  wished  to 
show  that  she  knew  how  much  to  give  ; 
and  so,  full  of  herself  and  her  own  fancied 
wisdom,  she  did  in  a  moment  of  mortified 
vanity  what  had  brought  weeks  of  sorrow. 
Her  mistress  said  that  she  would  not  then 
talk  much  to  her,  as  she  was  still  so  weak ; 
but  she  told  her  to  pray  for  a  lowly  spirit, 
and  she  said  that  she  hoped  this  would  be 
a  lesson  to  her  to  think  more  humbly  of 
herself.  She  showed  her  how  she  had 
given  way  to  conceit  and  vanity  in  many 
things,  and  also  pointed  out  to  her  how 
impossible  it  was  for  her  to  overcome  these 
faults  without  prayer  to  God  for  the  aid  of 
his  Holy  Spirit. 

"You  have  tried  in  your  own  strength, 
Ellen."  said  Mrs.  Seymour,  "and  have 
failed.  For  the  future,  seek  for  strength 
from  God,  and  pray  to  him  for  grace  to 
walk  humbly  in  his  ways.  Then  your  ef- 
forts to  do  right  will  succeed,  and  may  he 
guide  and  bless  you  !" 

Mrs.  Seymour  rose  to  leave  the  room, 


64  ELLEN   AND   SARAH ;    OK, 

and  Ellen  tried  to  thank  her  for  all  her 
kindness,  but  she  could  not  speak.  In  a 
few  days  Mrs.  Jones  arrived  to  take  her 
daughter  home,  and  Mrs.  Seymour  was 
good  enough  to  send  them  in  her  carriage, 
lest  Ellen  should  take  cold  on  the  journey. 
She  promised  to  take  Ellen  back  as  soon 
as  she  should  be  quite  well ;  and  thus, 
though  there  was  much  to  make  Widow 
Jones  and  her  child  grave  and  sad,  they 
were  not  so  unhappy  as  they  might  have 
been. 

Ellen  stayed  at  home  for  two  months, 
during  which  time  the  Misses  Seymour 
drove  over  more  than  once  to  see  her,  and 
hear  how  she  was  getting  on. 

At  the  end  of  two  months  she  returned 
to  her  place  an  altered  girl.  £To  one  who 
had  seen  her  before  would  have  known 
her  again.  She  was  not  less  merry,  or  less 
quick  ;  but  she  was  more  thoughtful,  more 
humble,  and  less  inclined  to  judge  others 
than  she  had  been.  She  was  neat  and 
clean  in  her  dress,  but  never  fine ;  and 


THE  SAMPLERS.  65 

every  year  she  sent  something  home  to 
her  mother,  either  in  money  or  clothes. 
She  was  still  often  tempted  to  give  way  to 
vanity  and  self-conceit,  but  she  had  learned 
the  right  way  of  curing  her  fault,  and  it 
was  seldom  that  it  broke  out  openly. 

She  has  now  lived  with  Mrs.  Seymour 
for  many  years,  and  will  probably  remain 
hi  her  service  until  the  death  of  her  mis- 
tress. 

Mrs.  Seymour  often  says  that  she  can 
hardly  believe,  when  she  looks  at  Ellen, 
so  neat,  so  thoughtful,  and  so  willing  to 
be  taught,  that  it  can  be  the  same  Ellen 
who,  as  a  young  girl,  was  so  vain  and 
conceited. 

Sarah  and  Ellen  were  both  at  Rosedale, 
on  Miss  Lucy  Stanley's  birthday,  about 
two  years  ago.  Mrs.  Stanley  sent  word 
to  say  that  she  should  be  glad  to  see  them 
both  at  the  parsonage,  and  they  went  very 
gladly.  As  they  walked  home  in  the 
evening,  they  began  to  talk  of  the  first 
treat,  and  the  samplers. 


66  ELLEN   AND   SARAH. 

"  I  was  very  full  of  myself  then,  Sarah," 
said  Ellen,  "  and  I  hated  you  and  poor 
Annie  for  gaining  the  prizes." 

"And  I  was  discontented  because  I 
could  not  read  and  write  so  well  as  you," 
said  Sarah.  "  So  we  both  had  our  faults, 
and  I  never  look  at  my  sampler  without 
feeling  how  wrong  I  was.  But  here  we 
are  at  home,  Ellen;  and  I  see  Aunt  Jones 
with  mother,  so  we  will  all  have  tea  to- 
gether, better  friends,  I  hope,  than  on  the 
evening  of  the  first  treat  at  the  parson- 
age." 

And  now  let  me  beg  of  my  young 
readers  to  find  out  what  their  besetting 
sin  is;  whether  vanity,  discontent,  or  a 
bad  temper;  and,  while  they  try  them- 
selves to  correct  it,  let  them  remember 
that  they  must  not  do  so  in  their  own 
strength,  but  must  seek  for  that  help  from 
God,  which  he  will  certainly  give  them  if 
they  ask  for  it  earnestly,  with  humble 
prayer  and  faith  in  Jesus  Christ  their 
Saviour. 


RACHEL   CONFESSING   HER  DECEPTION. 

See  page  93. 


DECEITFUL    RACHEL; 


THE    CUT    SLEEVE. 


Ellen  rmd  Surah.  5 


DECEITFUL   RACHEL; 

OK, 

THE    CUT    SLEEYE. 


ANY  little  girls  who  have  read  the  story 
of  "  Ellen  and  Sarah,"  and  their  samplers, 
may  perhaps  like  to  know  something  of 
some  other  of  the  children  who  went  to 
the  Kosedale  school. 

There  was  a  small  hamlet  about  two 
miles  from  Rosedale,  called  Islip  ;  and  in 
this  hamlet  lived  several  families  whose 
children  went  to  the  school  at  Rosedale. 
It  was  too  long  a  walk  for  the  children  to 
come  home  to  dinner ;  so  their  mothers 
generally  gave  them  a  cold  dumpling  or 
n  thick  slice  of  bread  and  butter  to  take 


72  DECEITFUL   RACHEL  ;    OB, 

to  school  for  their  dinner ;  and  often,  es- 
pecially in  the  winter,  Mrs.  Stanley  would 
send  them  some  broth  or  a  rice  pudding 
from  the  parsonage. 

Among  these  children  from  Islip  were 
two  little  girls  who  had  been  play-fellows 
from  the  time  they  could  run  alone.  Their 
names  were  Rachel  Munt  and  Jane  Coop- 
er. Rachel  had  two  brothers,  who  went 
to  school  at  Rosedale,  as  well  as  herself. 
Jane  had  one  sister,  who  sometimes  walked 
to  school  with  her,  but  the  distance  was 
too  great  for  little  Mary  to  walk  every 
day. 

Rachel  and  Jane  were  clean,  well-be- 
haved girls;  and  it  was  not  until  you 
knew  them  well  that  you  found  out  how 
different  they  were.  Rachel  is  the  child 
this  story  is  to  be  about.  She  was  a  very 
obliging,  good-natured  girl,  and  when 
first  she  went  to  school  everybody  liked 
her.  But  this  did  not  last  long :  after  a 
time  every  one  seemed  afraid  of  her; 
even  Jane  looked  shyly  at  her. 


THE   CUT   SLEEVE.  73 

Rachel  had  one  fault,  and  a  great  fault 
it  was ;  she  never  told  the  exact  truth. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  she  would  tell  a  down- 
right falsehood ;  sometimes  she  would  do 
what  was  as  bad,  let  another  child  be 
blamed  for  a  fault  she  herself  had  com- 
mitted; this  was  a  falsehood  in  action. 
At  other  times  she  would  make  false  ex- 
cuses; and,  in  fact,  she  had  so  many 
ways  of  deceiving  that  no  one  could  trust 
her. 

It  was  the  custom  at  the  Rosedale 
school  for  one  girl  to  remain  behind  at 
twelve  o'clock  to  sweep  out  the '  room 
ready  for  afternoon  school ;  and  if  she 
found  any  book  or  pencil  left  about,  it  was 
her  duty  to  put  it  by.  When  the  room 
was  cleared,  the  children  from  Islip  were 
allowed  to  have  their  dinner  in  an  outer 
room  close  to  the  school-room. 

It  happened  one  day  that  the  school- 
mistress, old  Mrs.  Norris,  had  placed  her 
china  slate  upon  the  chimney-piece,  in- 
stead of  putting  it  by  in  her  cupboard  as 


74:  DECEITFUL   RACHEL  j    OR, 

usual.  The  reason  of  this  was,  that  she 
had  written  something  upon  it  that  she 
wished  to  remember  during  afternoon 
school ;  and  she  thought  that,  if  the  china 
slate  were  placed  on  the  chimney-piece, 
she  should  be  sure  not  to  forget.  She 
therefore  put  it  there,  and  hung  the 
string  of  the  slate  over  a  brass-headed  nail 
at  some  distance  up  the  wall,  so  that  the 
slate  could  not  fall,  and  no  one  could  take 
it  down  without  standing  on  a  chair  to 
lift  the  string  off  the  nail. 

It  was  Jane  Cooper's  day  to  sweep  out 
the  school-room  ;  and  she  had  leave  to  go 
home  as  soon  as  she  had  finished,  because 
her  mother  wanted  her  that  afternoon. 
Jane  put  everything  in  order,  locked  the 
door,  and  placed  the  key  on  a  shelf  in  the 
outer  room.  This  was  the  usual  plan,  for 
the  children  were  not  allowed  to  play  in 
the  inner  school-room. 

Mrs.  Norris  was  a  wise  woman  ;  she 
knew  that  if  people  are  to  resist  tempta- 
tion when  they  are  grown  up,  they  must 


THE   CUT   SLEEVE.  T5 

begin  when  they  are  young.  So  she  al- 
ways gave  the  girl  whose  business  it  was 
to  sweep  out  the  school  the  charge  of  the 
key  during  the  dinner  and  play  hour,  with 
strict  orders  not  to  enter  the  room  herself, 
nor  allow  any  one  else  to  do  so.  If  the 
girl  had  leave  to  go  home  before  after- 
noon school,  the  rule  was  that  the  key 
should  be  put  on  a  high  shelf  out  of  the 
reach  of  the  very  little  girls.  It  was  not 
often  that  Mrs.  Norris  found  her  order  had 
been  disobeyed ;  for  even  among  the 
worst  behaved  of  the  children  there  .was 
a  strong  feeling  about  it.  Each  liked  to 
think  that  Mrs.  ]STorris  trusted  her. 

It  so  happened  after  Jane  was  gone 
home  on  this  day,  that  the  Islip  children, 
having  finished  their  dinner,  went  out  to 
play.  They  were  soon  joined  by  some  of 
the  Rosedale  children,  and  the  little  party 
was  a  merry  and  a  happy  one. 

"What  shall  we  play  at?"  was  the  first 
question. 

"  Let  us  play  at  that  pretty  new  game 


76  DECEITFUL   RACHEL;    OR, 

we  played  at  the  parsonage,"  said  Ra- 
chel ;  "I  should  like  it  better  than  any 
other." 

"  Or  shall  .we  skip  ?"  said  another  girl. 

"Or  play  hot-boiled  beans?"  asked  a 
third. 

"  Well,"  replied  Rachel,  with  her  usual 
good-nature,  "  let  us  have  the  game  that 
most  like.  If  you  will  all  stand  in  a  ring, 
I  will  go  round  and  ask  what  each  will 
choose.  I  am  sure  I  don't  care  which 
it  is." 

"  No !  you  are  always  so  good-natured, 
Rachel,"  was  the  general  answer. 

Hide-and-seek  was  the  game  chosen,  and 
it  was  settled  that  the  eldest  should  hide 
first.  After  a  time  Rachel's  turn  came. 
She  hid  in  a  small  closet  in  the  outer 
room,  where  the  children  always  hung 
their  cloaks  and  bonnets.  While  there 
she  remembered  that  the  key  of  the  inner 
room  had  been  left  on  the  shelf;  and 
thinking  that  the  school-room  would  be  a 
safer  hiding-place,  she  made  up  her  mind 


THE   CUT   SLEEVE.  77 

to  try  it.  The  next  minute,  however,  she 
heard  voices  in  the  outer  room,  so  she 
could  not  move ;  but  the  little  girls  only- 
looked  round  the  room,  and  then  ran  out 
to  seek  her  in  the  play-ground.  Rachel 
now  came  out  softly,  took  the  key,  un- 
locked the  door,  locked  herself  into  the 
school-room,  and  crouched  down  in  one 
corner.  She  had  hardly  done  so  before 
she  heard  two  of  her  companions  at  the 
cloak  closet. 

"Aha!"  thought  Eachel;  "haven't  I 
puzzled  you  well !" 

She  looked  up,  and  the  china  slate 
caught  her  eye. 

"  What  a  nice  little  slate !"  she  said  to 
herself;  "I  will  just  take  it  down  and 
look  at  it."  She  jumped  on  a  chair,  took 
down  the  slate,  and  tried  to  draw  on  it 
with  her  slate-pencil.  Finding  that  it 
would  not  mark,  she  began  to  hunt  for  a 
lead-pencil.  While  she  was  busy  doing 
so  she  heard  voices  near  the  window ; 
and,  fearful  lest  she  should  be  seen,  she 


78  DECEITFUL   RACHEL;    OK, 

again  crouched  down  on  the  floor.  Then 
she  thought  that  she  should  not  like  to  be 
found  in  the  school-room,  and  that  .she 
had  better  go  back  to  the  cloak  closet. 

She  stood  up  again  on  the  chair  to  put 
the  slate  back  in  its  place,  but  in  her 
hurry  she  forgot  to  put  the  string  over  the 
nail;  the  slate  slipped,  fell  into  the  fire- 
place, and  was  broken  to  pieces. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  was  Rachel's  first 
thought ;  and,  "  Make  haste  back  to  the 
closet !"  the  next.  All  was  still ;  so  she  un- 
locked the  door  as  softly  as  she  could,  put  the 
key  back  upon  the  shelf,  and  slipped  into  the 
closet  again.  She  had  scarcely  hid  her- 
self behind  a  cloak  before  she  heard 
voices. 

"Rachel!  Rachel!  where  are  you? 
we've  looked  everywhere,  and  can't  find 
you.  We  give  up,  so  come  out !" 

This  was  repeated  several  times,  and 
Rachel  ran  into  the  play-ground. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?"  cried  half  a 
dozen  voices. 


THE   CUT    SLEEVE.  79 

"In  the  cloak  closet;  how  came  you 
not  to  find  me,  you  silly  girls?" 

"We  looked  there,  but  I  am  sure  you 
weren't  in  it,"  said  Jane  Price  and  Mar- 
garet Long. 

"But  I  was,"  persisted  Rachel;  "and 
you'd  have  found  me,  too,  if  you'd  shakea 
the  cloaks  well." 

Margaret  and  Jane  looked  as  though 
they  could  hardly  believe  her,  and  Rachel's 
conscience  told  her  that  she  was  deceiv- 
ing ;  but  Mrs.  Morris  was  seen  at  the  gate, 
and  the  play  was  at  an  end  for  that  day. 

When  Mrs.  Norris  reached  the  school- 
room she  was  quite  surprised  to  see  her 
china  slate  lying  on  the  hearth,  broken  to 
pieces.  She  waited  until  all  the  children 
were  seated,  and  then  said,  "  Who  has 
been  in  this  room  during  the  play-hour  ?" 

"  I've  not !  I've  not  1"  was  the  answer 
from  all. 

"  Somebody  must  have  come  into  the 
room,"  said  Mrs.  Korris,  "  for  here  is  my 
china  slate  broken,  and  it  could  not  have 


80  DECEITFUL    KACHEL  J     OB, 

fallen  of  itself,  because  the  string  was 
round  the  nail." 

"  Really,  ma'am,  we  have  not  been  in," 
said  several  voices,  "  and  we  didn't  see  any 
one  come  in.  Jane  Cooper  swept  the 
room  and  put  the  key  on  the  shelf,  and 
we've  not  touched  it." 

"  Perhaps  Jane  broke  the  slate,"  said 
Rachel,  in  a  loud  whisper  to  Margaret 
Long. 

"  No !  no !"  replied  Margaret ;  "  if  Jane 
had  broken  it,  she  would  have  said  so. 
Are  you  sure,  Rachel,  that  you  did  not  ? 
Where  were  you  when  we  hunted  in  the 
cloak  cupboard  ?  I  am  sure  you  were  not 
in  it." 

"  I  was  behind  one  of  the  cloaks,"  was 
the  ready  answer  of  the  deceitful  girl; 
"how  dare  you  say  that  I  broke  the  slate?" 

"  Come,  girls,  silence  !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Norris,  "  and  listen  to  me.  It  is  certain 
that  some  one  has  broken  the  slate  ;  Jane 
Cooper  may  have  done  so,  but  she  is  not 
here  to  speak  for  herself;  I  shall  therefore 


THE    OUT  SLEEVE.  81 

say  no  more  about  it  until  I  can  ask  her. 
In  the  meantime,  if  any  girl  here  be  the 
per*son  who  transgressed  the  rules,  by  go- 
ing into  the  school-room,  I  hope  she  will 
say  so." 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  but  all  the 
girls  suspected  Rachel ;  however,  she  did 
not  speak.  When  school  was  over,  and 
the  children  were  walking  down  the  nar- 
row lane,  at  the  end  of  which  they  were 
to  separate,  several  of  the  girls  asked  Ra- 
chel  whether  she  had  not  broken  the 
slate  ;  but  she  firmly  denied  having  even 
been  into  the  room. 

One  falsehood  leads  to  another ;  and 
Rachel  added  to  her  sin  every  time  the 
china  slate  was  spoken  of,  by  repeating 
her  denial  that  she  knew  anything  of  it. 
Jane  Cooper  was  questioned,  but  she  de- 
clared that  she  had  left  the  slate  quite 
safe,  and  had  not  even  touched  it.  She 
said  that  she  had  only  swept  out  the  room, 
locked  the  door,  and  put  the  key  upon  the 
shelf  where  it  had  been  found. 


82  DECEITFUL    BACHEL ;    OR, 

Mrs.  ISTorris  felt  sure  that  some  one  must 
have  told  a  falsehood ;  she  would  not  ask 
any  more  questions,  because  she  knew 
that  the  first  lie  having  been  told,  others 
would  follow  whenever  anything  should 
be  said  of  the  slate.  But  she  determined 
to  watch  the  children  very  narrowly,  that 
she  might  find  out  who  it  was  that  would 
thus  deceive.  So  nothing  more  was  said 
about  the  slate  for  some  time. 

But  truth  is  generally  found  out  at  last, 
and  so  it  was  in  this  case  with  Rachel. 
Her  schoolmistress  and  her  play-fellows 
detected  her  several  times  in  deceit ;  aud 
her  mother,  who  was  an  excellent,  truth- 
loving  woman,  was  quite  distressed  to  see 
how  this  sad  habit  was  growing  upon 
her  little  girl.  She  talked  to  her,  scolded 
her,  and  punished  her,  but  all  in  vain. 
Rachel  had  allowed  herself  to  tell  false- 
hoods, until  she  seemed  hardly  able  to  tell 
the  truth. 

Mrs  Munt  was  very  anxious  to  do  all 
she  could  to  cure  her  child  of  this  dreadful 


THE    CUT    SLEEVE.  83 

sin ;  she  would  often  make  her  read  the 
awful  end  of  Ananias  and  Sapphira,  talk 
to  her  of  the  sin  of  deceit,  and  point  out 
to  her  the  punishment  that  God  has  de- 
clared shall  be  for  those  who  indulge  in  it. 
Then  Mrs.  Munt  would  teach  her  little 
girl  to  pray  to  God  to  forgive  her  for  Jesus 
Christ's  sake,  and  to  help  her  to  strive 
against  her  besetting  sin.  Rachel  would' 
cry  and  say  she  was  very  sorry,  but  the 
next  moment  all  was  forgotten ;  and  upon 
the  least  temptation  the  ready  falsehood 
rose  to  her  lips.  Yet  sometimes  she  was 
really  sorry,  but  this  was  when  she  was 
found  out ;  her  sorrow  was  not  for  her  sin, 
but  for  its  consequences.  This  was  not  a 
right  sorrow,  and  therefore  it  did  no  good ; 
instead  of  making  her  try  to  do  better,  it 
only  made  her  try  to  conceal  her  fault 
more  artfully  the  next  time. 

All  that  Mrs.  Stanley  said,  and  every 
plan  that  Mrs.  Munt  and  Mrs.  Norris  pur- 
Bued,  seemed  in  vain. 

"  You  can  do  no  more,"  said  kind  Mrs. 


84  DECEITFUL    RACHEL  ;    OB, 

Stanley  one  day  to  Mrs.  Munt.  "  Yon 
'have  done  your  best,  and  you  must  pray 
that  God  will  hereafter  bless  your  endeav- 
ors. I  doubt  not  that  he  will  answer  your 
prayers  ;  for  has  not  he  promised  to  do  so 
when  those  prayers  are  offered  in  faith  ? 
You  remember  that  text,  '  Cast  thy  bread 
upon  the  waters;  for  thou  shalt  find  it 
after  many  days.'  You  are  casting  the 
bread  upon  the  waters  by  doing  all  you 
can  to  show  your  child  her  sin,  and  make 
her  sorry  for  it,  and  you  must  live  in 
hopes  of  'finding  it,'  although  it  be  not 
until  c  after  many  days.'  " 

Mrs.  Stanley's  kindness  was  very  grate- 
fully received  by  the  poor  woman ;  and 
she  did  pray  from  her  heart  that  God 
would  bless  her  endeavors  for  the  good  of 
her  child  with  success. 

Some  weeks  passed  after  the  breaking 
of  the  china  slate ;  and  the  little  girls,  who 
weie  very  fond  of  Mi's.  Norris,  had  put 
their  coppers  together  and  bought  her  a 
new  one.  Rachel  Munt  was  eager  to  give 


THE    OUT    SLEEVE.  85 

her  halfpenny;  she  tried  to  persuade  her- 
self that  by  doing  so  she  could  repair  her 
former  fault.  Poor  child!  she  forgot  that 
she  had  sinned  against  Almighty  God ; 
and  that,  before  her  sin  could  be  forgiven, 
it  must  be  repented  of.  She  certainly 
could  atone  to  Mrs.  Norris  by  helping  to 
pay  for  the  new  slate,  but  she  could  not 
by  that  do  away  with  the  lie  she  had 
told. 

There  was  a  little  girl  called  Louisa 
White,  who  often  came  to  school  in  the 
afternoon.  Her  mother  lived  at  Rose- 
dale,  and  was  a  widow;  she  supported 
herself  and  this  only  child  by  dress- 
making. Louisa  was  a  great  pet  with  all 
the  village;  and  she  was  very  fond  of 
playing  with  the  school  children.  She 
often  went  to  the  play-ground  with  them 
after  dinner ;  and  then  she  stayed  at  school 
until  some  of  the  girls  who  lived  near  her 
mother  would  take  her  home  with  them. 
Louisa  generally  brought  some  work  or  a 
book  to  school  with  her ;  and  Mrs.  Stan- 


Ellen  and  Sarah. 


86  DECEITFUL    RACHEL;    OE, 

ley  sa»J  that,  as  long  as  she  behaved  well, 
there  was  no  objection  to  her  remaining 
during  afternoon  school,  at  which  time  the 
girls  were  usually  employed  in  needle-work. 
One  afternoon  Louisa  had  come  to 
school  as  usual ;  and,  when  all  the  work 
had  been  fitted  and  given  out,  Mrs.  Korris 
called  her,  and  told  her  to  try  and  say  her 
letters.  The  little  girl  began,  but  soon 
complained  of  headache  ;  and  in  a  short 
time  she  seemed  so  unwell,  that  Mrs. 
ISTorris  was  much  alarmed.  One  of  the 
girls  was  sent  to  call  Mrs.  White ;  but, 
unfortunately,  she  had  gone  out  for  the 
day.  At  this  moment  Miss  Lucy  Stanley 
came  in,  and  she  begged  Mrs.  Norris  to 
wrap  the  child  up  in  a  cloak,  and  carry 
her  to  the  parsonage  to  Mrs.  Stanley,  who 
was  always  a  kind  friend  in  time  of  sick- 
ness. Miss  Lucy  said  that  she  would  re- 
main at  the  school  until  Mrs.  ISTorris 
should  return.  The  schoolmistress  thank- 
ed her,  and  said  she  would  come  back  as 
quickly  as  she  could. 


THE   CUT   SLEEVE.  8? 

"While  Mrs.  Norris  was  absent,  and  Miss 
Lucy  Stanley  was  fitting  some  work, 
Rachel  Munt  had  the  misfortune  to  cut 
her  work  in  unpicking  a  piece  that  had 
been  badly  done.  Mrs.  Norris  had  often 
forbidden  her  to  use  scissors  for  unpick- 
ing, and  had  desired  her  to  take  a  large 
pin  instead.  But  Rachel  thought  that  it 
was  less  trouble  to  unpick  with  scissors, 
and  she  was  now  doing  so  slyly.  She 
hoped,  by  making  great  haste,  to  finish 
before  the  schoolmistress  should  return. 
However,  with  Rachel  as  with  many 
other  people,  "  most  haste"  proved  "worst 
speed ;"  for  the  scissors  slipped  and  cut  a 
large  hole  in  the  shirt  sleeve.  What  was 
to  be  done  ?  Rachel  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment of  trying  to  sew  up  the  hole ;  but 
then  she  remembered  that  she  could  not 
do  that  without  the  marks  being  seen. 
She  was  still  in  doubt  what  to  do  when 
Mrs.  Morris,  who  had  been  kept  longer 
than  she  expected,  came  in.  The  hour  for 
breaking  up  had  come,  and  the  children 


DECEITFUL   RACHEI  ,*  OB, 

were  desired  to  fold  up  their  work.  Rachel 
contrived  to  slip  the  cut  shirt  sleeve  into 
her  bag,  and  then  folded  up  the  shirt. 
Miss  Stanley  waited  until  the  work  was 
all  put  away,  and  the  hymn  sung ;  and 
then  she  wished  the  mistress  and  children 
"  Good  afternoon."  Rachel  was  to  call  at 
the  parsonage  after  school  for  some  broth 
for  her  mother,  who  was  unwell ;  and,  as 
she  walked  up  to  the  house,  she  turned 
over  in  her  mind  what  she  should  do 
about  the  sleeve. 

When  Rachel  got  to  the  parsonage,  she 
was  told  by  the  cook  to  sit  down  in  the 
kitchen  while  she  went  for  the  broth. 
There  was  some  work  on  the  kitchen 
table,  for  the  cook  and  housemaid  had 
been  sitting  together  working.  They  had 
been  making  shirts  for  Mr.  Stanley's  eld- 
est son,  who  was  just  going  abroad  ;  and, 
as  he  wanted  his  shirts  made  quickly, 
Mrs.  Stanley  sent  some  to  the  school,  and 
had  some  made  at  home.  The  housemaid 
had  been  called  away  before  Rachel  came 


THE     CUT    SLEEVE.  89 

in,  and  the  little  girl  was  now  alone.  She 
soon  perceived  that  among  the  work  on 
the  kitchen  table  there  were  a  great  many 
shirt  sleeves ;  and  the  thought  came  into 
her  mind,  "Shall  I  change  mine  for  one 
of  these  sleeves  ?" 

Rachel  forgot  that  the  eye  of  God  was 
upon  her,  although  no  human  eye  could 
see  her.  She  quickly  snatched  up  a 
sleeve  from  under  the  rest  of  the  work, 
hid  it  under  her  shawl,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  putting  her  own  cut  sleeve  in  its 
place  when  she  heard  the  cook's  footsteps. 
She  had  only  time  to  hurry  back  to  her 
chair  before  the  cook  came  in  with  the 
broth.  When  Rachel  reached  home,  she 
was  frightened  and  unhappy  ;  she  thought 
it  must  be  found  out  that  she  had  taken 
the  sleevS.  How  she  wished  that  she  had 
never  begun  to  deceive !  What  to  do 
with  the  cut  sleeve,  she  could  not  tell ;  at 
last  she.  determined  to  carry  it  in  her 
pocket,  hoping  to  find  a  chance  to  put  it 
into  the  school  closet  without  being  seen. 


90  DECEITFUL   RACHEL  J   OB, 

"I  thought  you  had  put  both  sleeves 
into  your  shirt,  Rachel,"  said  Mrs.  Norris 
the  next  day,  when  she  was  looking  over 
the  work.  "  I  am  almost  sure  you  were 
putting  in  the  second  yesterday." 

"  No,  ma'am,"  answered  Rachel ;  "  that 
was  only  the  first ;  I  had  to  unpick  it  and 
do  it  over  again." 

Mrs.  ISTorris  felt  certain  that  this  was 
false ;  but  at  this  moment  Mrs.  Stanley 
entered. 

"  Mrs.  Norris,"  said  she,  "  have  you  a 
shirt  sleeve  more  than  .you  want?  My 
housemaid,  Anne,  came  to  me  in  great 
trouble  just  now  ;  there  is  a  sleeve  miss- 
ing, and  though  she  has  searched  every- 
where she  cannot  find  it.  She  says  she  is 
sure  they  were  all  cut  out  right,  and 
Anne  is  so  exact  that  I  cannot  doubt  her. 
Do  you  think  you  have  taken  one  too 
many  by  mistake  ?" 

"  No,  indeed^  ma'am,"  replied  Mrs. 
Norris  ;  "  I  am  sure  not.  When  the  roll 
of  Mr.  Edward's  shirts  was  undone,  I  gave 


THE   OUT   SJLEEVE.  91 

a  shirt  to  each  of  the  eight  biggest  girls  to 
make,  and  all  the  sleeves  are  put  in  ex- 
cept Rachel  Hunt's,  and  she  is  now 
putting  in  the  second  of  hers.  Come  here, 
Rachel,  and  show  Mrs.  Stanley  your 
work." 

Rachel  brought  her  work,  and  Mrs. 
Norris  searched  the  closet,  but  no  sleeve 
was  to  be  found. 

"  You  are  improving  in  your  work, 
Rachel,"  said  Mrs.  Stanley.  "  This  sleeve 
is  very  neatly  made;  did  you  do  it  all 
yourself?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Rachel,  though 
she  knew  she  was  telling  a  falsehood. 
"  I  did  it  quite  by  myself." 

"  How  is  this  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nbrris 
as  she  took  up  the  sleeve ;  "  this  wrist- 
band is  quite  a  different  shape  from  the 
other!" 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Rachel, 
coloring  deeply. 

"  Surely,  this  is  the  very  lost  sleeve," 
said  Mrs.  Stanley;  "Anne  told  me  that 


92  DECEITFUL  RACHEL;    OR, 

the  wristband  was  different  from  the 
others ;  but  where  can  the  proper  sleeve 
for  this  shirt,  be  ?" 

Miss  Lucy  now  came  in ;  and,  seeing 
that  Mrs.  Stanley  was  looking  at  Rachel's 
shirt,  she  took  up-  the  sleeve  and  said, 
"  Well,  Rachel,  have  you  mended  the 
hole  ?" 

"What  hole,  miss?"  asked  Rachel,  try- 
ing not  to  blush. 

"  The  hole  that  you  cut  yesterday  when 
you  were  unpicking  the  sleeve." 

Rachel  started  ;  she  did  not  know  that 
Miss  Stanley  had  seen  her. 

"  I  saw*  your  scissors  slip,"  said  Miss 
Lucy,  "and  meant  to  have  shown  you 
how  to  mend  it,  only  it  was  time  for  school 
to  break  up." 

She  took  up  the  shirt,  but  there  was  no 
appearance  of  a  cut  on  either  sleeve. 

"  Where  is  the  cut  sleeve  ?"  said  Miss 
Lucy. 

Rachel  still  denied  that  she  had  met 
with  any  accident,  and  said  that  Miss 


THE   CUT   SLEEVE.  93 

Stanley  was  mistaken ;  but  the  little  girl 
was  less  bold  than  usual.  She  felt  her 
color  rise ;  and,  to  hide  her  confusion,  she 
took  her  handkerchief  from  her  pocket 
under  pretense  of  blowing  her  nose.  A 
long  thread  came  out  with  it,  and  then  a 
piece  of  muslin  appeared. 

"What  is  this?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Norris, 
taking  hold  of  the  thread ;  and  the  next 
minute,  to  Rachel's  horror,  the  schoolmis- 
tress had  pulled  out  the  sleeve. 

Rachel  could  deny  no  longer;  and,  burst- 
ing into  tears,  confessed  that  she  had  cut  the 
sleeve  by  accident,  and  had  taken  the  other 
from  the  kitchen  table  at  the  parsonage. 

"  I  meant  to  put  this  in  the  place  of  the 
good  one,  indeed  I  did,  ma'am ;  pray, 
pray  forgive  me ;  I  hadn't  time,  cook  came 
back  so  soon." 

Mrs.  Stanley  was  very  much  grieved,  so 
grieved  that  for  several  moments  she  could 
scarcely  speak.  She  wished  Mrs.  Norris 
and  the  children  "  Good  afternoon,"  and 
desired  Rachel  to  follow  her. 


94  DECEITFUL  BACHEL;  OR, 

Long,  very  long  and  earnestly  did  kind 
Mrs.  Stanley  talk  to  the  child  when  they 
reached  the  parsonage ;  and  she  entreated 
her  to  repent  and  forsake  her  sin.  "  You 
are  sorry  now  for  the  consequences  of  the 
untruth  you  have  told,"  said  this  kind  and 
excellent  lady,  "  but  I  wish  you  to  be  sorry 
for  the  sin  itself.  Had  you  confessed  that 
you  had  cut  the  sleeve  by  accident,  Mrs. 
Norris  might  have  been  displeased  by  your 
disobedience  and  carelessness,  but  you 
would  not  have  added  to  your  fault  by  a 
lie.  You  acted  the  first  lie ;  for  you  took 
the  sleeve  from  the  kitchen  table  with  the 
intention  of  putting  your  cut  sleeve  in  its 
place  ;  by  so  doing  you  tried  to  throw  the 
blame  of  the  accident  on  an  innocent  per- 
son. One  falsehood  almost  always  leads 
to  a  second  ;  and  thus,  when  I  praised  the 
improvement  in  your  work,  and  asked  if 
you  had  made  the  sleeve  yourself,  you  told 
a  second  untruth,  and  said  Yes ;  and  then 
went  on  to  tell  several  more  when  Miss 
Lucy  spoke  to  you.  This  sin  of  deceit 


THE   CUT   SLEEVE.  95 

will  certainly  bring  you  to  destruction 
both  in  this  world  and  the  next  unless  you 
repent  of,  and  forsake  it.  Let  the  event 
of  this  day  be  a  warning  to  you,  and,  as 
you  value  your  happiness  here  and  here- 
after, strive  to  forsake  this  grievous  sin. 
You  are  laying  up  sorrow  for  yourself 
when  you  give  way  to  deceit.  Even  now 
who  believes  you  ?  who  trusts  you  ?  and 
does  not  God,  who  sees  all  hearts,  look 
upon  you  with  anger?  Think,  too,  of  your 
parents,  who  have  worked  and  toiled  for 
you  for  years ;  how  ungrateful  yon  are 
to  them  when  you  thus  vex  them  by  de- 
ceit !" 

"  I  am  really  sony,"  sobbed  Rachel ; 
".only  please  to  forgive  me,  and  pray  don't 
turn  me  away  from  school ;  I  really  will 
not  tell  stories  any  more." 

"  And  how  often  have  not  you  promised 
this  before,  Rachel?  and  yet  you  have 
told  falsehoods  again  ;  but  I  will  give  you 
another  trial,  and  not  send  you  away  from 
school.  It  will  be  punishment  enough  for 


96  DECEITFUL   RACHEL;   OR, 

you  that  your  word  cannot  be  trusted,  and 
that  you  will  feel  that  no  one  believes  you. 
You  must  pray  to  God  that  he  will  help 
you  by  his  Holy  Spirit  to  conquer  this  evil 
habit,  and  to  resist  every  temptation  to 
falsehood.  You  will  find  deceit  a  very 
difficult  fault  to  cure,  and  you  never  can 
overcome  it  in  your  own  strength.  £Tow 
go  home,  Rachel,  and  may  God  grant  you 
true  repentance  for  your  sin  !" 

Rachel  went  home,  crying  bitterly ; 
but  there  was  a  hope  that  Mrs.  Stanley's 
words  had  not  been  without  effect;  for 
the  first  thing  RacheJ  did  was,  to  con- 
fess the  whole  of  what  had  passed  to  her 
mother,  adding  also  how  she  had  broken 
the  china  slate. 

Mrs.  Munt  was  very  much  distressed ; 
yet  she  encouraged  a  belief  that,  as  Ra- 
chel had  confessed  her  fault,  she  would 
now  set  to  work  in  good  earnest  to  cure 
herself  of  the  habit  of  deceit. 

Mrs.  Munt  walked  up  the  next  morn- 
ing to  call  upon  Mrs.  Xorris,  taking  Ra- 


THE    CUT    SLEEVE.  97 

chel  with  her;  and  she  made  Rachel 
own  to  Mrs.  ISTorris  all  her  sin  and  false- 
hood both  about  the  slate  and  the  shirt 
sleeve. 

After  this  Rachel  became  more  watch- 
ful over  herself,  and  by  degrees  more 
careful  in  what  she  said.  But,  as  Mrs. 
Stanley  had  warned  her,  her  sin  brought 
its  own  punishment.  She  would  often 
feel  hurt  and  cry  at  finding  that  the  word 
of  the  youngest  child  was  taken  against 
hers.  She  was  frequently  not  believed 
even  when  she  did  speak  truth,  because 
no  one  could  be  sure  it  was  truth ;  and 
it  was  inany  years  before  her  acquaint- 
ances could  feel  confidence  in  her. 

It  may,  however,  be  an  encouragement 
to  any  children  (who  have  the  same  fault 
of  being  deceitful,  yet  wish  to  overcome 
it)  to  hear  that,  by  God's  grace  assisting 
her,  Rachel  did,  after  many  hard  trials, 
succeed  in  curing  herself  of  it. 

At  my  last  visit  to  Rosedale  I  called 
upon  Mrs.  Munt,  and  found  Rachel  at 


98  DECE1TTFUL    EACHEL,    ETC. 

home.  Her  mother  had  been  ill  for  some 
time,  and  Rachel  was  nursing  her  like  a 
dutiful  and  affectionate  daughter.  She 
added  to  her  father's  earnings  by  taking 
in  needle-work ;  and  Mrs.  Stanley  assured 
me  that  she  employed  no  workwoman  who 
was  more  exact  and  straightforward  in 
every  way  than  Rachel  Munt. 


DERiiOT  AND  EIS  FATHER. 
See  j 


D  E  E  M  0  T, 


FISHEE-BOl    OF 


D  E  E  M  0  T, 

THE  FISHER-BOY  OF  INNISKEMY. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

I  LOVE  the  sea ;  and  often  have  I  sat  for 
hours  on  its  shores,  until  my  whole  being 
was  imbued  with  a  soft  and  pleasing  mel- 
ancholy, inspired  by  the  scene,  and  height- 
ened by  the  thought  of  the  boundless 
waters  that  cut  me  off  from  the  land  I 
loved.  But,  O !  who  can  paint  the  raptur- 
ous delight  with  which  I  gazed  upon  it, 
dashing  its  white  foam  upon  the  shores  of 
my  own  bright  isle  ? 

Circumstances,  needless  to  relate,  had 
obliged  me  to  reside  for  many  years  in  a 
foreign  land ;  but  the  days  of  my  boyhood, 


Ell.  n  ami  Sarah. 


104:      THE  FISHER-BOY  OF  INNISKERET. 

and  the  cairn  Lours  of  my  happy  infancy 
had  been  spent  in  Ireland.  Round  every 
stick  and  every  stone  was  twined  some 
fond  association  of  the  dreams  of  earlier 
years ;  some  dear  remembrance  of  the  gay 
scenes  of  what  I  then  thought  a  perfect,  as 
well  as  permanent  happiness.  But  years 
of  disappointment  and  sorrow  came,  and 
the  world  lost  its  rosy  hue.  Yet  what  of 
that  ?  It  is  of  Ireland  I  am  to  speak ;  and, 
in  her  own  beautiful  language  of  meta- 
phor, I  shall  only  add,  that  if  clouds  have 
rolled  over  the  pathway  of  my  life,  I  have 
learned  to  penetrate  through  the  gloom, 
and  to  discover  that  ther,e  is  a  silver  lining 
to  them  all. 

For  the  benefit  of  my  health  I  had  been 
ordered  a  sea  voyage.  "With  this  purpose, 
I  embarked  on  board  a  ship  bound  from 
London  to  one  of  the  western  seaports  of 
Ireland.  Here  I  was  received  with  cord- 
ial warmth  by  the  friend  at  whose  hospi- 
table rectory  I  was  to  be  a  visitor. 


THE   FISHEK-BOY^Ifc1   INNISKEBKY.       105 


CHAPTER  II. 

NOT  many  days  after  my  arrival,  I  accom- 
panied Mr.  Yernon  in  a  walk  along  the 
pebbly  beach  of  the  wild  and  riigged 
coast.  My  frame  had  been  weakened  by 
recent  illness;  and,  while  inhaling  the 
strengthening  breezes  of  the  ocean,  we 
paused  several  times  to  rest  upon  the  frag- 
ments of  rock  around  us.  Calm,  blue,  and 
cloudless  were  the  heavens  above  ;  and  a 
corresponding  calmness  was  spread  over 
the  deep  and  stilly  waters.  Even  the  very 
sea-fowl  seemed  to  slumber  on  their  bosom, 
and  scarcely  a  ripple  disturbed  their  sur- 
face, except  now  and  again,  when  a  light 
skiff  darted  by  the  echoing- rocks,  resound- 
ing to  the  fisher's  merry  laugh,  or  merrier 
song. 

We  pursued  our  pathway  to  the  en- 
trance of  a  small  village,  inhabited  chiefly 


106     THE   FISHER-BOWDF   INNISKEKRY. 

by  fishermen,  as  the  various  implements 
around  each  cabin  seemed  to  imply.  The 
little  school-house,  which  stood  alone  in 
the  midst  of  a  small  garden,  at  the  foot  of 
a  hill  whose  summit  was  crowned  with  the 
modest  church,  was  an  exception ;  thus 
silently  proclaiming  to  the  passer-by  the 
blessed  instructions  that  were  daily  con- 
veyed in  one  humble  mansion  to  the 
young,  and  that  were  weekly  enforced 
with  the  prayerful  fervor  of  their  much- 
loved  and  faithful  pastor,  alike  to  the  par- 
ent and  to  the  child,  in  the  other. 

The  first  cottage  in  this  village  attracted 
my  attention.  There  was  a  degree  of 
neatness  in  it  which  I  had  not  observed 
elsewhere.  There  was  even  an  attempt  at 
ornament  in  the  small  trellised  porch,  and 
in  the  creepers  trained  over  the  white- 
washed walls,  which  pleased  me  not  a 
little.  At  the  door  sat  a  woman,  appar- 
ently past  forty  years  of  age,  busily  en- 
gaged at  her  wheel.  By  her  side,  in  the 
last  gleam  of  the  setting  sun,  lay  a  little 


DERMOT'S   MOTHER. 


THE    FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKEKRY.      109 

terrier  dog,  who  seemed  well  satisfied  to 
allow  a  couch  upon  his  back  to  a  fine 
tabby  cat,  while  a  little  further  off,  a  huge 
sow,  with  a  litter  of  young  ones,  completed 
the  group. 

We  had  approached  close  to  the  woman 
before  we  were  perceived,  for  the  noise  of 
her  wheel,  and  the  loudness  of  her  joyous 
song,  drowned  every  other  sound  Ipbut  the 
bright  eyes  of  the  watchful  terrier,  though 
half  covered  with  his  paws,  soon  observed 
us,  and  his  shrill,  sharp  bark  announced 
our  presence  to  his  mistress.  She  was  of 
a  tall,  commanding  figure,  though  rather 
masculine  in  appearance.  She  was  clothed 
in  a  gown  of  dark  linsey-woolsey,  which, 
though  old,  and  mended  with  patches  of 
various  sizes  and  colors,  was  yet  carefully 
pinned  up  behind,  and  displayed  a  petti- 
coat of  scarlet  stuff;  a  blue  spotted  apron, 
and  a  brilliant  cotton  handkerchief,  com- 
pleted her  toilet,  except  that,  indeed,  she 
had,  I  suppose  to  guard  against  the  chilly 
evening  air,  put  on  over  her  other  liabili- 


110      THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   UNNIbKEKET. 

merits,  what  appeared  to  me  to  be  one  of 
her  husband's  cloth  jackets.  This,  being 
open  in  front,  did  not  conceal  her  hand- 
kerchief. Her  hair  was  carefully  combed 
back  off  her  forehead,  and  confined  under 
a  very  tight  cap,  over  which  was  tied  an- 
other scarlet  and  green  handkerchief.  The 
scene  was  picturesque ;  and  I  determined 
to  take  Irsketch,  while  my  friend  Yernon 
entered  into  conversation  with  the  woman. 

Addressing  her  in  a  friendly  tone,  he 
said: 

"  "Well,  Alice,  to  judge  by  your  song, 
you  are  very  happy  this  evening." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  she  replied,  as  she 
rose  to  welcome  him ;  "  you're  right :  a 
light  heart  makes  a  merry  song,  your  rev- 
erence." 

"And  is  your  heart  always  so  light, 
Alice  ?"  asked  my  friend  in,  1  thought, 
rather  a  melancholy  tone. 

"Ah,  then,  why  wouldn't  it,  your  hon- 
or?" Alice  replied  ;  "  what  would  vex  me, 
when  I  have  a  sober,  quiet,  good  husband, 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKEEBY.      115 

was  a  man  so  changed ;  and  when  Jimmy 
Brien  went  away,  he  left  the  book  after 
him,  and  day  and  night  my  poor  man 
would  car'  it  about  with  him,  and  the 
dickens  a  bit  of  him  would  go  to  whisky 
shop,  or  jigs,  or  anything  else,  ever  since  ; 
but  when  he'd  come  home  he'd  be  reading, 
or  mending  of  his  nets,  or  talking  to  the 
boy ;  and  I  am  sure  your  own  honor's  wor- 
ship isn't  milder  nor  what  he  is." 

"Well,  and  what  was  the  book  all 
about,  will  you  tell  us,  Alice?"  said  Yer- 
non. 

She  colored  deeply ;  and,  after  a  little 
hesitation,  replied, 

"  Indeed,  I  don't  know,  sir ;  Larry's  ever 
at  me  to  hearken ;  but  I've  no  laming, 
and  I  do  be  busy  about  everything ;  only 
sometimes  I  hear  him  reading  it.  '  Tis  a 
dale  about  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  his  holy 
name  be  p  aised,"  said  she,  rising  and 
courtesying. 

"  Does  Dermot  read  it  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  He  do,  then,  your  honor :  and  you'd 


116       THE  FISHER-BO  ST  OF  INNISKERRY. 

think  his  heart  and  soul  would  be  in  it, 
he  takes  such  pride  out  of  it ;  and,  in- 
deed, I  don't  doubt  but  'tis  that  makes 
him  the  boy  he  is.  I  won't  tell  nQ  lie,  sir ; 
I  know  'tis  beautiful,  and  if  I'd  time  I'd 
hearken." 

"And,  Alice,  have  you  no  time  to  think 
of  your  soul  ?  And  yet  must  you  not  have 
a  time  to  die?" 

"  Och,  sir  !  I'm  a  stout,  hearty  woman. 
I'll  not  die  yet ;  and,  if  I  gets  sick,  I'll 
send  for  the  priest,  and  he'll  give  me  abso- 
lution and  the  oil,  and  then  'twill  be  all 
right  with  me.  And,  indeed,  your  rever- 
ence," she  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  the 
priest  isn't  agreeable  to  them  two  reading 
the  book  at  all.  There's  Larry  never  goes 
to  confession  this  long  time  on  the  'count 
of  it,  for  his  reverence  axed  him  to  give 
up  the  book,  and  Larry  wouldn't ;  and  he 
never  went  next  nor  nigh  him  since.  Only 
/or  the  priest's  a  quiet  old  man,  we'd  have 
great  work ;  he  called  'em  in  chapel  two 
or  three  times,  as  I  could  hear,  (for  I  wasn't 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNI8KEKRY.      117 

there,)  but  all  to  no  purpose.  I  struv  to 
hinder  'em  of  reading  it  for  a  while  ;  but 
'twas  no  use ;  and,  troth,  I  thinks  there 
can't  be  much  harm  in  it  wherein  they  gets 
so  good  from  it." 

Yernon  did  not  here  enter  upon  a  dis- 
cussion with  this  poor  woman  upon  the 
subject  of  confession  and  absolution.  Her 
ignorance  and  determination  not  to  listen 
would  alike  have  made  it  useless.  But  a 
few  words  he  did  speak  to  her  of  deep 
and  solemn  warning;  and,  endeavoring  to 
impress  her  with  the  idea  that  God  alone 
can  forgive  sin,  that  the  blood  of  Jesus 
Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin,  he  added : 
"  O,  Alice,  Alice  !  remember  your  never- 
dying  soul ;  remember  *  now  is  the  accept- 
ed time,'  not  to-morrow,  not  this  evening, 
but  '  now  is  the  day  of  salvation !'  " 

She  appeared  slightly  touched,  and 
raised  the  corner  of  her  apron  to  wipe 
away  a  tear,  but  made  no  reply ;  and  we 
thought  it  best  to  leave  her  for  the  present. 


118       THE   FISHEB-BOY    OF   INNI6EJERKY. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

THE  shades  of  night  were  gathering 
around  us;  a  thousand  wondrous  worlds 
of  light  glittered  in  the  starry  firmament, 
and  the  calm  bright  moon  smiled  placidly 
upon  the  waters,  while  her  beams  danced 
in  fantastic  beauty  upon  the  far-off  rocks, 

"  Distinct  but  distant ;  clear,  but  0,  hcrv^cold." 

My  friend  was  silent  for  some  time  ; 
and  then,  pointing  to  the  moonlit  scenery 
around,  he  exclaimed:  "Still,  still  does 
that  heart,  where  there  is  so  much  of 
womanv  tenderness  and  woman's  love  to 
adorn  it,  yet  remain  as  cold  and  as  hard, 
when  you  speak  to  her  of  the  sinner's  only 
Friend,  as  yonder  rock  where  the  moon- 
light plays." 

"Then  you  have  spoken  to  her  before 
on  this  subject?" 

"Frequently;    most    frequently.      She 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKERRY.      119 

had  been  a  faithful  and  attached  servant 
in  our  family,  from  the  age  of  fifteen  till 
she  married.  Alas !  at  that  time,  before 
her  mind  had  become  occupied  by  house- 
hold cares,  we  lost  many  precious  oppor- 
tunities of  speaking  to  her  of  her  eternal 
welfare;  for  we  had  not  at  that  time 
learned  the  value  of  our  own  souls,  still 
less  the  value  of  the  souls  of  others,  though 
I  had  carelessly  declared  my  intention  to 
enter  upon  the  ministry,  and  to  take  upon 
myself  the  sacred  vows  of  ordination. 
But  thanks  be  to  the  Eternal  Father  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ,  ere  the  time  came, 
through  his  grace,  which  was  abundant  to 
me,  I  was  roused  as  it  were  from  sleep, 
and  taught  to  feel  the  solemnity  of  the 
office.  And,  by  the  aid  of  his  Spirit,  I 
have,  I  trust,  stood  upon  the  watch-tower, 
and  have  sounded  the  Gospel  trumpet, 
without  compromise  or  fear,  though,  alas ! 
with  what  deep  searchings  of  heart,  what 
heaviness  of  spirit,  am  I  forced  to  confess 
that  CI  have  left  undone  those  things 


120      THE    FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKEERY. 

which  I  ought  to  have  done,  and  have 
done  those  things  which  I  ought  not  to 
have  done,  and  there  is  no  health  in  me.'" 

Here  Yernon  paused,  and  seemed  lost 
in  thought  for  some  minutes,  until  I  ven- 
tured to  remind  him  of  Alice,  when  he 
continued : 

"  With  the  characteristic  thoughtless- 
ness and  haste  with  which  our  poor  Irish 
are  accustomed  to  form  the  dearest  and 
holiest  of  all  earthly  ties,  Alice,  contrary 
to  our  advice,  at  the  age  of  three-and- 
twenty,  entered  into  a  hasty  union  with  a 
fisherman  who  lived  near  us,  and  of  whom 
we  had  not  heard  a  very  unexceptionable 
character. 

"With  him  she  removed  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  coast,  and  we  lost  sight  of  her 
for  some  years.  I  need  not  repeat  to  you, 
what  you  already  well  know,  of  the  va- 
rious changes  which  took  place  in  our 
family,  until  my  father's  death,  when  my 
brother  became  master  of  Ardlish.  This 
church  was  bestowed  on  me.  Here  I 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNI8KERRY.     121 

again  met  my  friend  Alice.  Her  husband 
had,  not  long  before,  taken  the  cottage  in 
which  they  now  live;  and  her  joy  was 
very  great  on  discovering  that  I  was  the 
newly-appointed  rector.  Poor  Alice!  I 
saw  at  once  that  she  was  unhappy ;  her 
look  of  cheerful,  blooming  health  had 
given  way  to  a  careworn  expression  of 
fretful  anxiety.  From  her  I  heard  no 
complaints;  but  from  those  around  I 
learned  that  her  husband,  who  was  scarce- 
ly ever  sober,  treated  her  not  only  with 
neglect,  but  with  great  cruelty.  I  felt 
deeply  for  her,  and  longed  to  offer  to  her 
the  only  balm  for  the  sorrow-stricken 
heart.  On  my  first  visit  to  her,  I  said, 
without,  of  course,  referring  to  her  domestic 
sorrow,  which  she  evidently  wished  to  con- 
ceal: 

"'  Many  years  have  passed,  Alice,  and 
many  a  change  has  taken  place  since  last 
we  met ;  and  sorrow,  too,  has  visited  both 
our  hearts,  and  sobered  down  our  spirits.' 

"  'True  for  you,  sir,'  she  replied;  'I  be- 


Ellen  and  Sarah. 


122      THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNI6KERRY. 

lieve  we  both  of  us  thought  the  way  be* 
fore  us  was  bright  and  smooth ;  but  we's 
found  it  dark  and  stony  enough.  Signs 
by,  the  eye  is  not  so  lightsome,  nor  the 
head  so  cheery  as  it  was.' 

"  *  Yes,  Alice ;  but  that  need  not  sadden 
us,  when  we  can  look  forward  to  the 
world  where  the  eye  is  never  sad,  and  the 
heart  is  never  dreary  ;  is  not  this  a  bless- 
ing?' 

"  She  looked  rather  surprised,  but  gave 
a  cold  assent. 

"  I  spoke  a  little  more  to  her,  and  en- 
deavored to  direct  her  to  the  Rock  of 
Ages  ;  but  she  evidently  disliked  the  sub- 
ject, and  several  times  tried  to  turn  the 
conversation.  Often,  afterward,  did  I  seek 
to  draw  her  to  the  only  source  of  consola- 
tion for  sorrow  such  as  hers,  but  in  vain. 
My  wife,  too,  who  had  known  her  at  Ard- 
lish  before  our  marriage,  and  who  took  no 
small  interest  in  her  welfare,  assisted  me 
by  every  means  in  her  power,  but  in  vain. 
From  both  of  us  she  turned,  with  a  deaf- 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKEERY.      123 

ened  ear  and  averted  heart ;  and  at  last 
told  us  plainly  that  her  priest  had  forbid- 
den her  ever  again  to  allow  us  to  inter- 
fere between  her  and  her  God,  as  she 
called  it." 

"  Was  Dermot  born  at  this  time !"  I 
asked. 

"  No  ;  and  as  they  had  been  for  several 
years  married,  they  had  no  great  expecta- 
tion of  a  child ;  but  at  last  it  did  please 
God  to  send  them  as  lovely  a  little  infant 
as  I  have  ever  seen." 

"  And  did  not  this  soften  the  mother's 
heart?" 

"It  did  for  a  time.  We  hastened  to 
congratulate  her,  and  found  her  with  a 
heart  overflowing  with  the  soft,  tender  joy 
and  pride  of  a  mother's  first  love ;  but, 
alas!  mingled  with  it  was  no  feeling  of 
gratitude  to  the  gracious  Giver  of  the 
unexpected  boon.  c  He  is  a  lovely  child, 
Alice,'  I  said ;  '  and  will  you  not  give 
thanks  to  the  merciful  Father  who  has 
sent  you  such  a  precious  little  gift  ?  Will 


124:      THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKERET. 

you  turn  your  back  upon  Him,  who,  in 
spite  of  your  forgetfulness  of  him.  has 
given  you  your  heart's  desire  ?' 

"  A  tear  sprung  to  her  eye,  and  she  re- 
plied, <  Sir,  I  did  thank  Him,  and  bless 
Him  too ;  and  will  ever  bless  Him  while 
my  darling  lives ;  my  own  lamb,  ma 
cushla  ma  cree,  (the  vein  of  my  heart ;) 
gra  machree  ma  vourneen,  may  the  sun 
of  joy  lighten  the  way  before  ye!' 

"  'And  yet,  Alice,  even  should  the  Al- 
mighty be  pleased  to  take  him  back  again, 
still  you  should  bless  him,  and  say,  Thy 
will  be  done.' 

"  '  I  couldn't,  sir,'  she  said ;  i  I  couldn't 
bless  Him  if  he  did  that.  Now  I've  got 
my  little  beauty,  I  couldn't  give  him  up ; 
no,  avourneen,  I  couldn't  nor  I  wouldn't, 
either,'  she  added,  kissing  the  baby's  vel- 
vet cheek. 

"  I  was  grieved  at  the  last  expression, 
and  tried  to  point  out  the  evil  of  her 
words ;  but  she  had  again  steeled  her 
heart,  and  would  hear  no  more  ;  and  sel- 


THE   FI8HEK-BOY   OF  ESTNISKERRY.       125 

dom  after  that  could  I  induce  her  to  listen 
to  me." 

"And  what  effect  had  the  birth  of  his 
child  upon  Larry  ?" 

"  For  some  time  after,  he  became  much 
more  respectable  in  his  conduct,  and  said, 
now  he  had  some  one  to  come  after  him, 
he  would  keep  all  his  earnings  for  him. 
He  had  even  joined  what  was  called  the 
Temperance  Society,  taki-ng  a  pledge  to 
abstain  from  every  kind  of  spirituous 
liquor;  but  this  society  sought  only  to 
bind  its  members  by  a  moral  obligation, 
without  bringing  before  their  eyes  the  ho- 
liness of  that  sacred  Gospel,  which  enjoins 
men  to  soberness  and  temperance,  as  be- 
ing one  of  the  characteristic  marks  of  him 
who  walks  not  after  the  flesh,  but  after  the 
Spirit.  It  painted  strongly  the  disgrace 
and  ignominy  of  intoxication,  with  the 
poverty  and  destitution  which  it  produces ; 
and  it  urged  people  on  these  grounds  to 
abstain.  But  it  failed  to  direct  them  to 
Him  by  whose  power  alone  the  natural 


126     THE  FISHER-BOY  OF   INNI8KEEBY. 

heart  can  be  kept  from  indulging  in  its 
congenial  vices ;  it  failed  to  urge  them  to 
seek  in  prayer  for  the  aid  of  the  Eternal 
Spirit  in  resisting  this  too  prevailing 
temptation.  Consequently,  though  some 
did.  from  the  desire  for  worldly  prosperity, 
persevere  steadily  in  the  observance  of 
their  vow,  and  became  respectable  mem- 
bers of  society,  yet  many,  who  had  set  out 
with  an  equal  determination  to  persevere, 
overcome  by  the  temptation  of  their  too 
favorite  indulgence,  and  having  no  power 
to  resist,  fell  back  again,  and  added  to 
drunkenness  the  guilt  of  a  broken  vow." 

"And  thus  it  was  with  poor  Larry,  I 
doubt  not." 

"  Too  truly  so.  None  of  his  resolutions 
being  founded  upon  the  solid  ground  of 
religious  principle,  they  soon  gave  way, 
and  before  Dermot  was  much  more  than 
a  year  old,  he  was  become  as  great  a 
drunkard  as  ever!  Yet  so  remarkable 
was  his  love  for'this  child,  that  never,  in 
the  worst  moments  of  his  aberrations,  not 


THE  FISHER-BOY   OF  INNISKEREY.      127 

even  when  his  passion  rose  to  such  a 
height  that  his  wife  was  obliged  to  fly 
from  the  house,  did  he  show  one  symptom 
of  violence  toward  him.  One  look  at  the 
baby,  one  murmur  of  its  infant  voice, 
would  soothe  him ;  and  he  would  caress 
the  little  creature  with  as  much  tender- 
ness as  the  gentlest  woman  !  At  times, 
indeed,  when  Dermot  was  older,  he  did 
endeavor  to  correct  him,  when  he  really 
deserved  it ;  but  his  wife,  knowing  his 
natural  violence,  always  interposed,  and 
never  suffered  her  child  to  be  touched. 
No  wonder  that  this  boy,  handsome,  ami- 
able, and  endearing  as  he  was,  should 
grow  up  a  torment  to  the  whole  neighbor- 
hood, from  the  wild,  mischievous  habits 
which  he  was  allowed  to  contract." 

"When,  then,  did  this  great  change  take 
place  in  poor  Larry  3" 

"  When  Dermot  had  nearly  reached  his 
eighth  year.  At  that  time,  as  Alice  said, 
a  "fisherman  from  the  other  side  came  here, 
who  had  been  an  early  friend  and  asso- 


128      THE   FISHER-BOY    OF    INNISKERRY. 

ciate  of  Larry's,  but  who,  since  then,  had 
learned,  in  deep  penitence  for  past  of- 
fenses, to  know  and  love  the  Saviour  of 
his  soul.  He  mourned  deeply  over  the 
recklessness  of  poor  Larry,  and  strove  to 
lead  him  to  the  right  way.  At  first,  his 
efforts  appeared  unavailing;  but  he  pos- 
sessed, what  to  Larry's  heart  was  as  dear 
as  the  life  he  breathed,  a  knowledge  of 
the  Irish  tongue ;  and,  in  that  tongue,  he 
proclaimed  to  his  wondering  friend  the 
glad  tidings  of  salvation." 

"And  was  it  tljat  which  worked  so  pow- 
erfully upon  his  mind  as  completely  to 
change  his  conduct  ?" 

"Apparently  it  was.  After  his  friend 
had  sufficiently  engaged  his  attention,  he 
ventured  to  read  to  him  a  portion  of 
Scripture  in  the  same  language.  I  was 
present  at  his  first  reading ;  and  to  paint 
the  various  expressions  of  wonder,  delight, 
and  contrition  which  marked  poor  Larry's 
speaking  countenance  would  be  impossi- 
ble." 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKERKY.       129 

"Then,  when  the  novelty  wore  off,  he 
still  continued  to  like  it  ?" 

"  He  did.  From  that  time,  a  day  never 
passed  that  he  did  not  entreat  his  friend 
to  instruct  him  in  reading  the  Irish  tongue, 
and  to  read  to  him  out  of  his  elegant  book, 
as  he  called  it.  And  even  when  out  in 
his  boat,  he  would  snatch  every  idle  mo- 
ment to  pursue  his  beloved  sfudy.  Often, 
wfcile  the  rest  of  his  companions  lay  sleep- 
ing on  the  beach,  have  I  seen  him  seated 
on  a  stone,  his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees, 
his  hands  supporting  his  face,  while  his 
eyes,  fixed  in  the  deepest  attention  on  his 
friend,  seemed  to  drink  in  every  word  that 
was  uttered,  proclaiming  a  dying  Saviour's 
love  to  each  repenting  sinner." 

"Well,  and  how  long  did  this  go  on?" 

"  For  six  months ;  during  which  time, 
as  Alice  told  you,  a  surprising  change 
took  place  in  Larry  ;  and  even  the  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance  was  complete- 
ly altered." 

"  And  his  friend,  what  became  of  him?" 


130      THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INMSKERBY. 

"  At  the  end  of  six  months  I  had  a  visit 
from  Brien,  who  informed  me  that  he 
should  in  a  few  days  be  obliged  to  leave 
our  coast ;  '  and,'  added  he,  '  I'm  in  a  great 
amplush,  your  reverence ;  for  there's  poor 
Larry  O'Leary  crying  like  a  child,  for 
parting  me.  Only  it's  the  book  entirely 
that's  breaking  his  heart;  for  I  haven't 
only  the  one.+  And,  indeed,  your  honor, 
I'd  sooner  part  all  I  has  in  the  world  n«' 
that.  But  Larry  says  what  will  he  do ; 
that  he'll  have  neither  friend  nor  tacher 
when  I'm  gone ;  and  that  he'll  be  for  all 
the  world  like  a  boat  without  a  rudder ; 
and  that  the  book  would  tell  him  every- 
thing. For  he  isn't  cute  at  the  English 
at  all,  your  reverence  ;  but  he  reads  that 
as  pat  as  myself;  and  I  come  to  see  what 
your  reverence's  honor  could  do  for  me. 
I'm  pulling  two  ways,  for  the  dear  knows 
I'd  be  lost  without  my  book,  and  to  take 
it  from  Larry  would  be  a  murder.  For, 
God  knows,  there's  many  a  rock  and  many 
a  sand-bank  in  his  way  ;  and  he  don't  see 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKEKRY.      131 

very  clear  entirely  yet ;  and  I'm  in  dread, 
poor  fellow,  if  I  takes  the  light  from  him, 
he'll  be  wracked  entirely  !' 

"'And  do  you  think,  Brien,'  said  I,  '  if 
I  was  to  give  Larry  another  book  like 
yours,  he  would  take  care  of  it  ?' 

"  '  Take  care  of  it,  sir !  would  he  take 
care  of  his  child  ?  Why,  then,  'twould  be 
as  dear  to  him  as  that  same.  And  there's 
another  thing,  your  honor ;  he's  beginning 
to  tache  it  to  Dermot ;  and  it's  after  kill- 
ing him  dead  entirely  to  think  he'd  be  hin- 
dered of  that.' 

"  *  Well,  Jim,'  I  answered,  'I  have  some 
of  those  books  here,  and  as  you  will  go 
security  for  Larry's  care  of  it,  I  will  give 
you  one  for  him.'  So  saying,  I  took  one 
down  and  gave  it  to  Brien.  He  turned 
over  the  pages  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
said : 

"  '  If  it  wouldn't  be  displeasing  to  your 
reverenced  honor,  I'd  keep  this  one  my- 
self. And  don't  be  thinking  'tis  for  .the 
lucre  of  getting  the  new  one,  for  the  oth- 


132     THE   FISHER-BOY  OF   INNISKEERY. 

er's  an  old  friend,  and  I  likes  to  stick  to 
them  always ;  but  'tis  the  way,  the  pages 
isn't  the  same ;  and  Larry  wouldn't  get 
out  the  places  so  easy  as  in  the  other  one. 
And  besides,  there's  a  dale  of  marks  in 
the  other,  the  two  of  us  made  together : 
and  'twould  vex  him  to  lose  them,  your 
reverence.' 

"  c  Do  whichever  you  think  best  your- 
self, Jim,'  said  I ;  '  I  know  I  can  trust 
you.' 

"  '  Thank  your  reverence's  honor,  sir,' 
he  replied ;  '  indeed  you  may ;  and  God 
Almighty  guard  and  guide  you,  and  all 
belonging  to  you,  all  your  days,  and  steer 
you  into  the  right  harbor  at  last.' 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKEKBT.      133 


CHAPTER  IY. 

"THE  next  day  Brien  took  his  depart- 
ure ;  and  from  that  time  Larry  has  gone 
on  steadily  reading  his  Irish  Bible,  and 
praying  for  the  Spirit's  teaching,  both  for 
himself  and  for  his  son,  who  can  now  read 
as  well  as  his  father,  and  takes,  if  possi- 
ble, more  pleasure  in  itj  entering,  as  he 
does  fully,  into  the  blessings  and  promises 
therein  contained,  so  full  of  comfort  to  the 
Christian's  heart,  as  the  following  little  in- 
cident will  show. 

"Not  long  ago,  I  walked  out,  very  early 
in  the  morning,  along  the  beach,  after  a 
very  stormy  night ;  and  in  a  niche  of  the 
rocks,  at  some  distance,  I  saw  young  Der- 
mot  stretched  at  full  length,  studying  his 
Bible  so  intently,  that  for  some  minutes 
he  did  not  observe  me.  At  length  I  said, 
4  Well,  Dermot,  my  child,  you  seem  very 


134      THE   FISHER-BOY    OF 

busy.'  The  dear  boy  looked  up ;  and, 
while  a  glow  of  pleasure  overspread  his 
fine  countenance,  -he  exclaimed,  Tve 
found  it  here,  Mr.  Yernon.' 

" l  Found  what,  Dermot  ?' 

"  '  I  asked  the  reason  why  father  was 
kept  from  going  out  agin  the  storm  last 
night,  your  honor ;  'tis,  sir,  because  [here 
he  pointed  to  this  verse  in  his  Bible,  beg- 
ging me  to  read  it]  The  eye  of  the  Lord  is 
upon  them  that  fear  him,  upon  them  that 
hope  in  his  mercy ;  to  deliver  their  soul 
from  death,  and  to  keep  them  alive.'  Psa. 
xxxiii,  18. 

"  It  is  evident  too,  from  the  whole  tenor 
of  his  conduct,  that  not  only  are  God's 
promises  the  comfort  of  his  soul,  but  that 
his  precepts  are  the  rule  of  his  life,  and 
that,  young  aS  he  is,  he  has  '  chosen  that 
good  part,  which  shall  never  be  taken 
away.' " 

"  And  will  not  even  the  influence  of  her 
precious  child,"  I  inquired,  "avail  tc 
arouse  the  interest  of  poor  Alice  ?" 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   HTNISKERRY.      135 

"  ~No ;  'often  and  earnestly  have  both 
Dermot  and  her  husband  endeavored  to 
do  so,  but  in  vain.  With  a  smile  and  a 
kiss,  she  will  reply :  '  Thank  ye,  my  dar- 
ing; I'm  glad  ye  likes  it  so  much:  but 
I've  no  time  for  it,  I'm  so  busy ;  and, 
when  I'm  at  work,  I'd  sooner  be  hearken- 
ing to  your  own  sweet  song  than  to  the 
finest  book  ever  was  wrote,  avourneen.' 

" '  But,  mother,  it  is  God's  own  word,' 
Dermot  often  says. 

" '  I  know  it  is,  ma  bouchel.  And  when 
I'm  sick  I'll  hear  to  it ;  but  now  I'm  well, 
I'd  sooner  hear  your  own  welcome  talk, 
avich  ma  chree.'  (O  son  of  my  heart.) 

"  '  O  Alice,  Alice !'  her  husband  some- 
times says,  'hould  your  tongue,  before 
you'd  anger  the  Almighty  too  much. 
You're  putting  your  child  between  you 
and  the  Lord.  God  help  you,  but  maybe 
he'll  punish  you  for  it  yet.'  But  all  falls 
unheeded  on  Alice's  ear ;  which,  like  the 
deaf  adder,  hearkeneth  not  to  the  voice  of 
charmers,  charming  never  so  wisely." 


THE   FI8HEK-BOY    OF   INNISKERET. 


CHAPTEK  Y. 

BY  this  time  we  had  reached  home,  and 
found  tea  ready,  and  Mrs.  Yernon  await- 
ing our  return,  having  dismissed  most  of 
her  merry  little  group  to  bed.  The  next 
morning,  just  as  I  was  about  to  set  out  for 
a  walk,  I  met  at  the  door  a  fine  blooming 
lad  of  about  fourteen,  whom  I  instantly 
guessed  to  be  our  friend  Dermot.  On 
seeing  me,  he  took  off  his  cap  ;  and  his 
fine  curly  hair,  blowing  back  from  his 
sunburned  brow,  displayed  a  countenance 
radiant  with  happiness  and  good  temper. 
I  asked  him  what  was  his  business;  he 
touched  his  hair,  and  replied : 

"  I'd  like  to  see  the'mistiss's  honor,  sir  ; 
we'd  a  great  take  last  night ;  and  this," 
said  he,  holding  up  a  large  fish,  "  was  the 
best  among  'em,  so  I  brought  it  to  her 
ladyship." 


DEKMOT   AT    THE    PARSONAGE. 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKERRY.      139 

"  And  what  is  your  name,  my  boy  3"  I 
inquired. 

"Dermot  O'Leary,  plase  your  honor: 
and  the  man  that  owns  me,  is  him  they 
calls  Big  Larry,  the  fisherman  below  at  the 
carrig." 

I  summoned  Mrs.  Yernon  ;  and  having 
dispatched  his  business  with  her,  I  accom- 
panied the  lad  during  the  greater  part  of 
his  walk  home. 

"  Well,  Dermot,"  I  said,  "  and  are  you 
a  great  fisherman  ?" 

He  smiled  and  replied :  "  I'm  getting 
into  it,  sir ;  but  my  father's  the  best  among 
us.  Only  for  him,  we  wouldn't  get  so 
much  last  night." 

"  You  don't  always  get  so  much,  then  ?" 

"  Och  no,  your  honor;  we  do  be  some- 
times th«  whole  night,  and  gets  nothing." 

"And  what  are  you  all  doing,  while  you 
are  waiting  for  the  fish?" 

"Some  do  be  sleeping,  sir;  and  more 
do  be  watching,  or  smoking,  or  singing, 
eir." 

Elian  and  Sarah.  9 


14:0     THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKEERY. 

"And  what  do  you  do,  Dermot?" 

"  My  father  do  be  always  reading  to 
me,  sir,  or  either  I  to  him ;  and  there's  a 
couple  more  of  the  boys  likes  to  be  heark- 
ening to  us  often,  your  honor." 

"And  what  book  do  you  read,  Der- 
mot?" 

"  The  Bible,  sir." 

"  And  do  you  love  that  book,  Dermot  ?" 

He  raised  his  sparkling  eyes  to  mine, 
and  replied :  "  With  all  the  veins  of  my 
heart,  sir :  and  why  wouldn't  I  ?" 

"  And  what  makes  you  love  it  so  much, 
my  boy?" 

"Ah,  sir,  sure  there's  everything  in  it. 
If  I  wants  an  advice,  'tis  there  better  nor 
I'd  get  from  any  one ;  if  I  do  be  any  way 
down-hearted,  sure  I  finds  peace  there ; 
and  if  any  harm  overtakes  us,  I  reads 
there,  that  He  that  keeps  us  neither 
slumbers  nor  sleeps  ;  and  all  that  a  body 
wants,  they  finds  in  it !" 

"And  are  you  often  down-hearted,  Der« 
mot?" 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKERRY.      14:1 

"Och,  no,  your  honor;  I've  nothing  to 
trouble  me,  only  one  thing." 

"What's  that,  my  boy?"       . 

He  colored  deeply,  and  began  to  twist 
a  little  stick  in  his  hand  with  great  vio- 
lence. Then,  after  a  short  pause,  he  said 
in  a  low  voice,  "  My  mother,  sir  !" 

"  What !"  said  I,  "  is  your  mother  un- 
kind to  you?' 

"  O  no,  sir,"  he  cried,  "  not  that,  not 
that.  She's  the  best  mother  ever  boy  had. 
Sure,  if  it  would  benefit  me,  she'd  lie 
down,  to  let  me  walk  over  her !  She's 
only  too  good  to  me." 

"  How  do  you  mean  she's  too  good  to 
you  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  she  loves  me  too  well ;  for 
she  loves  me  better  than  Him  that  ought 
to  be  dearer  to  her  than  all.  O,  sir !  she 
puts  away  the  thoughts  of  Him  from  her 
too  much  entirely." 

"And  don't  you  try  to  lead  her  to  think 
of  Him,  and  hear  of  Him  ?" 

"  Ah,  then,  I  do,  your  honor ;  and  so 


142     THE   FISHEE-BOY    OF   INNI8KEKRY. 

does  my  father.  And  it's  the  only  thing 
she  won't  do  for  me.  She  says,  she'd 
sooner  be  hearkening  to  rne  than  to  God's 
word:  and,  ah,  sir,  dear!  sure  that  isn't 
the  way  she  ought  to  be !" 

"  And,  Derrnot,  do  you  do  nothing  but 
ask  her  to  think  of  God  ?" 

"O,  many  and  often  is  the  time  my 
father  and  I  kneels  down  before  the  Lord, 
and  axes  him  to  bring  her  to  the  right 
way  of  thinking;  but  he  didn't  do  it  yet." 

"Remember,  Dermot,  we  are  told  to 
continue  in  prayer." 

"  Yes,  sir,  we  often  think  of  that,  and 
how  often  David  almost  gave  over  prayer, 
and  said  he  was  desolate,  and  no  man 
cared  for  his  soul,  and  after  all  he  was 
heard;  'tis  that,  sir,  and  many  such  like, 
that's  all  our  comfort." 


THE  FISHER-BOY    OF   INNI8KERRY.      143 


CHAPTEK  YI. 

AFTER  a  little  more  conversation  with 
this  interesting  boy,  we  parted.  I  had, 
subsequently,  many  interviews  with  both 
Dermot  and  his  father,  with  whom  I  was 
equally  pleased,  and  whose  conduct,  as 
well  as  words,  evinced  a  degree  of  piety 
only  to  be  met  with  in  those  who,  under 
the  Spirit's  teaching,  have  made  the  Bible 
the  rule  of  their  lives. 

In  Alice,  too,  I  took  a  deep  interest ;  for 
though  I  could  not  but  deplore  the  de- 
termination with  which  she  turned  away 
from  everything  connected  with  her  soul's 
salvation;  yet,  on  other  subjects,  there 
was  a  depth  and  tenderness  of  feeling,  a 
warmth  of  heart,  and  even  a  rectitude  of 
principle,  which  I  could  not  but  admire. 
After  remaining  with  my  friends  a  few 
months,  I  departed,  promising  to  pay  them 
another  visit  the  following  summer,  if  life 
was  spared  to  us  all. 


THE  FISHER-BOY  OF  DTNISKERBY. 


CHAPTER  YH. 

QUICKLY  passed  the  winged  days,  weeks, 
and  months  :  the  period  soon  came  round 
again,  and  I  embarked  for  Ireland.  I 
need  not  stop  to  tell  how  delighted  I  felt 
once  more  to  land  upon  my  own  green 
isle,  nor  with  what  mingled  feelings  of 
sorrow  and  of  love  I  sang : 

"  My  country,  ray  country,  my  beautiful  Erin, 

Ah,  why  hangs  this  darkness    around  thy  green 

plains  ? 

Ah,  why  comes  there,  blent  with  thy  name  so  en- 
dearing, 
A  remembrance  of  sorrow,  of  guilt,  and  of  chains  ? 

14  There  are  mists  of  more   gloom  than  the  murkiest 

night  : 

Like  clouds  o'er  thy  mental  horizon  they  roll, 
there  are  chains,  than  the  bondslaves'  more  galling 

and  tight : 

They  shackle  and  bind  the  free  thoughts  of  thy 
soul." 

Every  blade  of  grass  was  dear  to  me. 
Every  furze  bush,  every  mud-built  cabin-, 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISZERRY.      145 

told  me  I  was  in  Ireland,  in  my  native 
land  ;  and  I  was  happy,  for  who  is  there 

"  With  soul  so  dead, 

Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

This  is  mine  own,  my  native  land  ?" 

I  found  my  hospitable  friend  well  and 
happy,  in  the  midst  of  his  numerous  farn- 

%• 

At  the  first  leisure  moment  I  inquired 
for  my  friend  Dermot. 

"  He  is  as  well  as  can  be,"  answered  Yer- 
non,  "  growing  quite  a  man ;  and,  if  pos- 
sible, a  greater  idol  than  ever  with  his 
poor  mother." 

"Then  Alice  is  not  improved?"  I  said. 

"In  some  things  she  is,"  said  Mrs.  Ver- 
non.  "  She  does  sometimes  show  an  in- 
terest in  serious  things,  and  has  more  than 
once  lately  asked  Dermot  to  read  his  Bible 
to  her;  but  her  idolizing  fondness  for  that 
boy  is,  as  my  husband  says,  if  possible,  in- 
creasing." 

"Poor,  poor  Alice,"  I  replied ;  "  will  she 
never  be  warned  of  her  error  2" 


146      THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INHISKERRY. 

"  Some  months  ago,"  continued  Mrs. 
Vernou,  "just  after  you  left  us,  Dermot 
was  seized  with  a  sudden  and  dangerous 
illness.  For  some  hours  his  life  was  de- 
spaired of ;  and  to  paint  the  wretchedness 
of  his  agonized  mother,  is  beyond  my 
power.  We  begged  of  her  earnestly,  (at 
the  same  time  that  we  felt  deeply  for  her 
sorrow,)  to  remember  that  He,  who  had 
given  her  her  child,  surely  had  a  right  to 
resume  that  gift." 

" '  I  don't  care  who  gave  him,'  she 
said ;  '  he's  mine  now,  and  I  won't  give  him 
up.' 

"  '  O,  Alice,  Alice !'  I  said,  <  think  who 
it  is  you  speak  of:  the  great,  the  Almighty, 
the  merciful  God,  who  gave  up  his  own, 
his  only  Son,  to  bear  poverty  and  pain, 
and  distress  and  sorrow,  to  see  all  his 
friends  forsaking  him,  and  then,  alone  and 
in  misery,  to  give  up  his  life  upon  the 
cross,  all  for  you  !  And  will  you  refuse 
the  very  first  thing  he  asks  of  you  ?  Will 
you  not  try  to  submit  to  his  will  2' 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKEKRY.      147 

" '  If  he'd  ask  anything  else  in  this  wide 
world  I'd  give  it ;  but  my  child,  my  life, 
my  darling,  my  weenach,  that  I  nursed  in 
my  bosom,  and  carried  in  my  arms,  and 
never  drew  one  tear  from  my  eyes  till 
now ;  my  jewel,  my  bright  beauti- 
ful flower !  O,  my  boy,  my  boy  !  I 
can't,  I  can't!'  she  cried,  bitterly  sob- 
bing. 

"  Charles  knelt  down,  and  prayed  that 
God  might,  in  his  infinite  mercy,  be 
pleased  to  spare  this  poor  mourner's  child, 
if  such  was  his  all- wise  will.  In  every 
petition  she  joined  fervently  and  warmly; 
but  when  he  went  on  to  pray  that,  if  his 
sovereign  wisdom  saw  fit  to  do  otherwise, 
he  might  send  his  Spirit  into  her  heart, 
and  enable  her  to  bow  in  meek  submission 
to  his  will,  we  observed  that  she  was  si- 
lent ;  nor,  while  he  prayed  that  Almighty 
grace  might  enable  her  to  loosen  her  too 
tightly  drawn  affections  from  this  idol 
of  her  heart's  worship,  did  one  singlo 
amen  escape  her  lips.  She  remained  in 


148      THE   FISHEK-BOY    Ot    INNISKEERY. 

sullen  silence,  except  when  a  groan  of 
anguish  relieved  her  burdened  heart." 

"  What  a  sad  state  of  inind ;  but  yet 
her  child  was  spared  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  a  few  days  after  he  had 
been  pronounced  out  of  danger,  we  called 
on  her  again. 

.  "  'O,  Alice !'  said  I,  '  have  you  not  great 
reason  to  thank  your  heavenly  Father  for 
his  goodness  to  you?' 

"'Indeed,  and  that's  true  for  you, 
ma'am,'  she  replied :  '  and  I  thanks  his' 
reverence,  too,  for  his  beautiful  prayers ; 
for  I  wouldn't  believe  but  'twas  them  done 
it,  for  he  got  a  turn  for  the  better  that  very 
night.' 

"  l  But,  Alice,'  said  Charles,  '  you  did 
not  join  in  those  prayers.' 

"  '  I  did  in  most,  your  reverence  ;  but 
you  axed  what  I  didn't  want  of  you, 
sir.' 

"  <  "What  was  that  ?'  inquired  I. 

"'Why,  ma'am,  that  I  mightn't  love 
my  child  as  well  as  I  does  now  ;  and  sure 


THE   FISIIEE-BOY   OF   INNISKKREY.       149 

that  was  a  quare  thing  to  ask  for  any 
mother ;  and  I  wouldn't  give  in  to  it,  for 
I  wouldn't  wish  to  love  him  a  bit  less 
than  I  does.  Sure,  if  a  mother  wouldn't 
love  her  child,  let  alone  her  only  one, 
would  there  be  any  love  in  the  world  ?' 

"  '  Alice,5  I  replied,  i  I  well  know  the 
depth  and  tenderness  of  a  mother's  love  ; 
but  I  know,  too,  there  is  a  higher,  holier 
love ;  and  if  we  do  not  prefer  the  Giver 
of  all  good  to  any  of  His  gifts,  we  are 
committing  idolatry  as  much  as  if  we 
made  a  god  of  stone,  and  fell  down  to 
worship  it.' 

"  On  hearing  this  Alice  turned  away, 
with  the  same  obstinacy  of  countenance 
as  you  may  sometimes  have  observed  in 
her.  c  Agh,  'tis  easy  talking;  but  if  God 
didn't  choose  we  should  love  the  childer, 
he  wouldn't  give  'em  to  us ;  in  especial 
wherein  we  didn't  expect  one.' 

"  We  rose  to  go  away;  and  Charles  said, 
'Alice,  from  my  heart  I  pity  you,  for  I 
cannot  but  fear  that  your  rebellious  idol- 


150      THE    FISIIKK-BOY    OF    INNTSKERRY. 

atry  will  yet  call  down  the  vengeance  of 
God  upon  your  head.  You  have  said, 
you  would  not  give  up  your  child  to  him. 
And,  O!  beware  lest  his  anger  be  pro- 
voked to  tear  away  from  you  that  which 
still  keeps  your  heart  from  him.' 

"  She  made  no  reply,  and  we  left  her. 

"  I  think  the  boy's  illness  has,  in  some 
degree,  softened  her  feelings,  but  has  not 
led  her  to  prefer  her  Lord  and  Saviour  as 
her  chief  joy.  That  will,  I  doubt  not,  yet 
be  accomplished ;  but  by  what  means  it 
may  be  I  dread  to  think  of." 


CHAPTEE  Till. 

A  FEW  days  after  this  discourse  I  accom- 
panied Yernon  in  a  visit  to  Alice.  As 
we  entered  very  gently  we  were  not  ob- 
served for  some  minutes,  and  my  surprise 
was  only  equaled  by  my  pleasure  at  the 
scene  before  me. 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKEKBY.      151 

The  always  industrious  Alice,  as  usual, 
busy  with  her  knitting,  sat  on  a  low  stool 
near  the  fire  on  the  ftoor.  At  her  feet 
was  seated  Dermot  with  his  Bible,  which 
he  was  reading  aloud  to  her ;  while  around 
the  room,  some  on  the  floor,  some  on  the 
settle,  one  on  a  tub  turned  upside  down, 
(to  serve  as  a  stool  for  the  time  being,) 
and  others  on  any  other  accommodation 
equally  un'couth  and  near  at  hand,  were 
assembled  a  group  of  listeners  :  some  wo- 
men, with  infants  in  their  arms,  a  few 
boys  and  fishermen,  two  or  three  girls, 
and  four  old  men. 

Among  the  last  was  Larry,  occupied 
with  his  nets ;  and  as  Alice  turned  to  make 
some  remark,  which  showed  her  interest 
in  the  subject,  I  observed-  him,  poor  fel- 
low !  lifting  up  his  eyes  toward  heaven 
with  an  expression  of  thanksgiving ;  while 
with  the  rough  sleeve  of  his  jacket  he 
wiped  away  an  unbidden  tear.  At  length 
one  of  the  women  perceiving  us,  the  whole 
group  arose ;  but  Dermot's  countenance 


152      THE  FISHER-BOY    OF   IXXISKERRY. 

was  much  too  expressive  not  to  display, 
in  spite  of  his  welcome,  no  small  degree 
of  disappointment  at  the  interruption. 
However,  after  they  had  paid  their  respects 
to  us,  Yernon  desired  them  again  to  be 
'  seated,  which  they  obeyed,  having  first 
presented  us  with  the  two  best  chairs  the 
house  afforded,  their  former  occupiers  con- 
tenting themselves  with  the  floor. 

Dermot  then  proceeded.  To  me  all  he 
said  was  unintelligible ;  but  Vernon,  by 
now  and  then  looking  to  his  own  Bible, 
was  able  to  follow  him  nearly  through  the 
whole ;  while,  in  watching  the  varying 
countenances  around  me,  I  found  abund- 
ant and  interesting  occupation.  Poor  Der- 
mot! I  never  shall  forget  the  smile  of 
delight  with  which  he  looked  up  at  us 
when,  having  ended  one  chapter,  his 
mother  begged  of  him  to  begin  another. 
Dear,  happy  Dermot !  poor,  fond  Alice  ! 
how  little  did  either  of  you  imagine  what 
was  at  hand? 

At  length  the  reading  was  concluded ; 


THE   FISHEE-BOT   OF  INNISKERRY.      153 

and  the  delighted  auditors,  having  thank- 
ed their  young  friend,  some  even  with 
tears  of  joy,  departed,  freely  expressing 
their  opinions  as  they  went. 

u  Ah,  then,  he's  a  "fine  scholard,"  said 
one. 

"  He  was  ever  ready  at  the  book,  'God 
bless  him !"  said  another. 

"Why,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  an 
old  man,  with  a  solemn  and  important 
shake  of  the  head,  "the  larning's  a  fine 
thing,  and  a  good  thing  too;  and  that's 
what  /  say." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AFTER  they  were  all  gone,  we  conversed 
for  some  time  with  Alice,  whose  mind 
certainly  appeared  opening  to  the  new 
and  blessed  truths  which  her  son  had  just 
been  conveying  to  her  ears.  I  say  her 
mind,  for  it  did  not  appear  that  her  heart 


154      THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   1NNISKERBY. 

was  yet  engaged.  Her  reason  was  con- 
vinced, but  her  heart  was  still  cold  and 
hard  toward  its  God ;  while  she  clung  with 
far  greater  tenacity  to  her  darling  child 
than  to  him,  the  Saviour,  the  Mighty  and 
All-merciful  Redeemer ! 

A  circumstance  had  occurred  not  long 
before  my  arrival,  which  had  certainly 
made  an  impression  on  her  mind,  and  was 
not  without  its  good  effects. 

It  was  this : 

There  was  at  Inniskerry  two  distinct 
parties :  those  who  read  the  Bible,  and 
those  who  did  not.  Larry  was  not  the 
only  one  in  the  place  who  was  concerned 
for  his  soul's  welfare :  many  more  had 
followed  his  example,  and  the  effect  of 
that  blessed  word,  accompanied  as  it  was 
by  the  Spirit's  teaching,  was  very  visible 
among  them. 

It  happened  that  there  had  been  for 
some  days  very  little  doing  among  the 
fishermen ;  but  at  last,  one  Sunday  morn- 
ing, there  was,  as  they  said,  "a  great  sign 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKERRY.      155 

of  fish  on  the  water;"  and,  regardless  of 
the  sacredness  of  the  day,  they  began 
eagerly  to  prepare  their  boats,  all  but 
Larry  and  the  "  little  flock  "  who  shared 
his  sentiments.  »This  was  by  no  means 
pleasing  to  the  opposite  party,  who  were 
anxious  to  enlist  Larry,  as  being  the  best 
and  most  experienced  fisherman  among 
them.  They  urged  him  strongly  to  it, 
represented  the  distress  they  had  been 
suffering  for  some  time,  and  declared 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  provide  for  his 
wife  and  child,  as  well  as  that  of  others. 

"  Ah,  then,  'tis  you  that  will  get  the  fine 
tearing  from  the  wife,  if  you  stops  at  home. 
Let  her  alone  for  a  tongue,  when  'tis  let 
loose." 

"And  small  blame  to  her,"  said  anoth- 
er; "when  she's  without  her  rights  this 
time  back,  and  might  asy  get  'em  now  if 
he  chose.  And,  sure,  the  priest  came  down 
and  blessed  the  boats ;  and  where's  the  fear 
now,  except  that  they'd  be  too  full  to  bring 


10 


156     THE   FISTTER-BOY  OF   INNISKERRY. 

The  temptation  was  strong,  but  the 
"stronger  One"  was  with  Larry.  He 
lifted  up  his  heart  for  a  moment  in  prayer, 
and  then  said,  "  I  tell  ye,  boys,  there's  no 
blessing  can  ever  be  •with  them  that 
crosses  the  will  and  commandment  of 
God ;  and  with  his  help,  I'll  not  lay  a 
hand  to  my  boat  afore  twelve  o'clock  this 
blessed  night." 

And  he  turned  away  and  entered  his 
house,  followed  by  the  jeers,  laughter,  and 
curses  of  the  other  party ;  and  received 
from  Alice  no  gentle  reprimand  for  what 
she  called  "  his  Protestant  palaver  "  He 
listened  for  some  time  in  silence,  knowing 
too  well  how  useless  it  is  to  attempt  to 
stay  the  torrent  of  an  angry  woman's 
tongue ;  but  when  there  was  a  pause,  he 
said  calmly  and  solemnly,  "  Protestant  or 
Roman,  it's  all  one  if  they  reads  their  Bi- 
ble, and  believes  it,  they'll  not  go  agin 
what  God  commands ;  and  I'll  tell  you 
once  for  all,  Alice,  if  you  expects  me  to 
consider  your  will  and  pleasure  before  the 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF  IKNISKEKRT.       157 

Almighty  God's,  it's  what  I  never  can, 
nor  never  will  do.  Anything  else  in  this 
earthly  world  to  serve  you  I'll  do  ;  but  I 
cannot  put  even  you  betune  [between] 
God  and  my  own  soul ;  and  with  the  help 
of  him  above,  I  never  will ;  and  so  give 
over  your  talk  now." 

Alice  was  not  an  ill-tempered  woman  : 
her  passion  was  soon  over ;  and  Larry 
spent  the  remainder  of  the  day  in  peace. 

When  the  Sabbath  was  over,  and  the 
morning  of  Monday  began  to  dawn,  he 
and  his  companions,  together  with  Der- 
mot,  (who  had  heartily  concurred  in  his 
father's  decision,)  launched  their  boats, 
and  departed  on  a  fishing  expedition; 
and  on  the  following  evening,  all  the 
boats  returning,  to  the  great  discomfiture 
of  the  first  party,  the  boats  of  Larry 
and  his  company  were  abundantly  sup- 
plied, while  their  own  had  scarcely 
brought  enough  to  show  even  what  they 
had  been  about.  This  excited  great  sur- 
prise among  the  people,  who  could  in  no 


158     THE   FISHER-BOY  OF   INNISKEKET. 

way  account  for  the  superior  success  of 
the  unblessed  boats. 

On  some  this  affair,  which  they  pro- 
nounced "the  quarest  thing  ever  they 
knew,"  produced  a  most  happy  effect, 
leading  them  to  depend  no  longer  upon 
the  word  and  power  of  a  mortal  man,  but 
to  seek  in  Jesus  alone  for  pardon,  accept- 
ance, and  life  everlasting.  As  to  Alice, 
it  greatly  shook  her  confidence  in  her 
spiritual  directors,  and  led  her  to  inquire, 
for  a  time  at  least,  after  the  true  God  of 
power  and  of  love.  But  much  more  was 
yet  to  be  done,  and  the  time  was  not  yet 
fully  come. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WE  shall  now  return  to  Larry,  who  ac- 
companied us  part  of  the  way  home. 

From  his  conversation  we  gathered, 
that  the  Lord  was  daily  drawing  him 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKEEBY.      159 

nearer  to  himself,  and  that  Dermot  was 
fast  ripening  for  that  eternal  glory,  of 
which  he  was  so  soon  to  be  made  a  par- 
taker. To  some  remark  made  by  my 
friend,  Larry  replied,  with  a  fervor  of  de- 
votion I  never  shall  forget,  "  O,  sir !  a 
heart  of  iron  would  melt,  if  it  could  call 
to  mind  all  the  whole  love  of  God  to- 
gether!" 

"His  love  is  indeed  wonderful,"  said 
Yernon ;  "  far  beyond  what  man's  heart 
can  imagine." 

<f Ah,  sii*t  I  sometimes  think  of  all  his 
love,  and  all  his  mercy,  till  I  feels  a'most 
choking;  and  I'd  cry  my  two  hands  full, 
and  then  I'd  get  ease,  and  fall  down,  and 
thank  him  for  everything.  There's  one 
book  in  the  Bible,  your  honor,  is  very  full 
of  the  love  of  God ;  not  but  that  'tis  the 
way  with  the  whole  of  'em,  but  I  con- 
sates  there's  most  in  that.  'Tis  Hosea, 
your  reverence.  Ah,  sir !  it  seems  to  go 
very  hard  with  the  Lord  to  give  up 
his  people,  bad  entirely,  and  wicked  as 


160      THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKEKEY. 

they  were."  And  he  repeated,  in  Irish, 
the  eighth  verse  of  the  eleventh  chapter, 
"How  shall  I  give  thee  up,  Ephraim?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Yernon ;  "  and  then  how 
sweetly  he  tells  them,  '  I  drew  them  with 
the  cords  of  a  man,  with  bands  of  love, 
but  they  refused  to  return  !'  " 

"  O,  sir!"  said  Larry,  "sure  I  was  just 
like  them  myself  once.  Many  a  way  did 
the  Lord  strive  to  draw  me  to  him  ;  (I've 
seen  it  all  since,  but  I  didn't  know  it  then ;) 
and  I  hardened  myself  agin  him,  till  at 
last,  without  any  grief  or  misfortune,  \>ut 
just  by  the  bands  of  love,  through  the 
means  of  his  own  blessed  word,  he  awak- 
ened me  up  at  once :  and  sure,  sir,  what 
thing  else  was  it  but  the  hand  of  God 
brought  that  word  to  me?  Ah,  then, 
wasn't  it  the  love  of  God  that  sent  Pad- 
deen  to  the  stream  just  at  that  minute? 
and  wasn't  it  he  made  the  book  stick  to 
the  hook?  and  wasn't  it  he  made  Jimmy 
Brien  larn  himself  first,  and  then  sent  him 
here  to  larn  to  me?  But  sure  enough, 


THE   FISHEK-BOY   OF   INOTSKERRY.     161 

when  he  roused  me  first,  I  thought  it  was 
only  to  put  me  to  greater  punishment ;  for 
O,  your  reverence !  I  thought  my  sins  so 
black  entirely  that  the  Lord  would  never 
look  on  me,  but  only  to  destroy  me.  But 
blessed  be  his  name,  he  said  to  me,  as  he 
said  to  them  of  old,  after  telling  'em, 
6  He'd  carry  'em  away  like  a  cloud — Yet 
I  am  the  Lord  thy  God :  thou  shalt  know 
no  God  but  mdf  for  there  is  no  Saviour 
besides  me !' " 


CHAPTEE  XL 

HERE  we  parted;  and,  not  long  after,  we 
met  a  woman,  who  appeared  in  a  state  of 
no  small  irritation,  as  her  words  evinced. 

"Bad  lucl%to  him  for  a  young  rascal !" 
said  she ;  "  never  fear,  but  I'll  wallop  him 
well,  when  I  catches  a  hoult  of  him !" 

"What's  the  matter,  Judy?"  inquired 
Vernon. 


162     THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKEKRY. 

She  started  at  the  sound  of  his  voice 
and,  appearing  rather  confused,  replied, 
"  'Tis  Barney,  sir,  the  young  villain.  I'm 
bawling  here  till  I'm  tired ;  and  I  can't 
get  him  high  nor  low.  Ah,  then,  if  I 
don't  make  his  four  bones  sore  this  blessed 
night!" 

"  O,  Judy !  pray  have  more  patience. 
I  suppose  the  poor  child  does  not  know 
you  want  him."  • 

"  O  then,  if  he  don't,  sir,  small  blame  to 
me  to  be  angry,  when  he  knows  he's  my 
only  dependence !" 

'iHave  you  no  son  but  him?"  I 
asked. 

"Not  one  in  the  wide  world,  your 
honor ;  only  Bill  that  do  be  minding  the 
crows,  and  Pat,  and  Joaneen,  that's  a 
girl,  and  three  I  buried,  the  craturs ;  but 
they  didn't  break  their  fas^  to-day,  and 
haven't  a  drop  to  wet  their  little  hearts." 

"And  what  is  Barney  to  do  for  them  ?" 

"Why,  sir,  to  be  down  on  the  crasa 
roads,  your  honor.  There's  a  dale  of 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKEKRY.      163 

quality  passing  to-day ;  and  he  ought 
to  be  there  to  ax  a  penny  for  charity's 
sake." 

"  That's  a  bad  trade  for  him,  Judy." 

"Wisha,  then,  'tis  a  poor  one  too,  your 
reverence,  but  sure  I  can't  help  it." 

"  Could  not  Barney  as  well  work  for 
you  as  beg  ?" 

"  Agh,  what  signifies  the  trifle  of  brass 
a  poor  gossoon  like  him  would  get  for  his 
work  ?  'twouldn't  put  a  pratee  in  his  own 
mouth,  let  alone  the  others." 

"Well,  Judy,  just  try.  I  have  some 
hay  to  be  made,  so  send  him  to-morrow ; 
and  we  shall  see  what  sort  of  a  day's  work 
he  will  do." 

"The  Lord  prosper,  and  bless,  and  in- 
crease your  honor's  reverence,  and  that  I 
may  never  live  to  see  your  downfall,  and 
that  you  may  never  feel  could  nor  hun- 
ger, you  nor  yours,  for  a  darling  man. 
O,  then,  'tis  Barney  will  be  proud  entire- 
ly ;  for  he  don't  much  like  to  be  after  the 
quality  that  way  at  all ;  not  but  what  he 


164:     THE   FISHEB-BOY    OF   IXNISKERKT. 

used  to  be  as  cute  at  it  as  any  boy  from 
this  to  Dublin." 

"  And  what  has  changed  him  so  much  ?" 

"Wisha,  I  don't  know,  tir;  only  he's 
ever  after  Dermot  O'Leary,  and  he  got  it 
out  of  his  book.  That  'tis  his,  I  makes 
him  tell ;  and  sure,  your  honor,  'tisn't 
right  for  a  boy  to  go  agin  his  mother  that 
way." 

"  But  does  he  go  against  you  in  any 
other  way,  Judy?" 

"  Indeed,  your  honor's  worship,  he  do 
not.  I'll  tell  you  no  lie.  He  was  a  wild 
chap  enough  once ;  but,  since  he  took  up 
with  Dermot  and  his  book,  there  is  not  a 
milder,  quieter  child  in  the  barony. 
'Twould  be  a  fine  thing  for  me  if  Bill  was 
like  him.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  the 
rason  of  it,  but  there  never  was  a  greater 
change  come  on  any  one.  Only  for  that 
I'd  never  let  him  near  Dermot.  In  regard 
af  him  refusing  to  go  down  the  crass  roads 
larrin,  I'll  lave  him  say  what  he  chooses 
himself." 


THE  FISHEK-BOY   OF   INNISKEERT.      165 

After  a  little  more  conversation,  during 
which  Vernon  endeavored  to  enlighten 
poor  Judy  upon  the  subject  of  falsehood, 
of  the  guilt  of  which  she  seemed  to  have 
a  very  small  idea,  we  parted,  obtaining 
from  her  a  promise  that  Barney  should  be 
in  the  hay-field  early  next  morning. 

Thus  did  this  dear  boy  Dermot  give 
evident  proof  of  his  being  a  child  of  God, 
by  his  anxiety  to  impart  to  others  that 
saving  knowledge,  which  was  to  him 
sweeter  than  honey,  and  the  droppings  of 
the  honeycomb. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

WE  must  go  back  a  little  in  our  narra- 
tive, to  explain  the  somewhat  ambiguous 
expressions  used  by  Larry  in  the  conversa- 
tion which  I  have  just  related,  and  which 
may  at  the  same  time  show  the  beautiful 
manner  in  which  the  God  of  Providence 


166      THE   FISHER-BOY  OF   INNTSKERBY. 

makes  what  appear  to  us  the  most  trivial 
incidents  work  to  the  glory  of  his  name  and 
the  good  of  his  children. 

In  the  part  of  the  country  where  Lar- 
ry's friend  Brien  resided,  there  was  a  nar- 
row, rapid  stream,  running  at  the  foot  of 
a  mountain.  In  this  stream  the  boy, 
whom  Larry  called  Paddeen,  was  one 
day  fishing,  when  something  unusual 
struck  his  hook.  He  drew  it  slowly  and 
carefully  up  ;  and  finding  it  to  be  part  of 
a  book,  he  dried  it,  and  took  it  to  his 
uncle,  James  Bryan.  His  uncle,  having 
some  time  before  this  been  studying  Irish, 
was  delighted  to  find  this  prent  book,  as 
Paddeen  called  it,  in  his  own  tongue. 
This  book  turned  out  to  be  a  portion  of 
the  New  Testament;  and  constant,  dili- 
gent, and  earnest  was  Brien's  perusal  of  it. 
The  Lord  was  pleased  to  enlighten  his 
mind  by  it ;  and,  from  that  one  small  por- 
tion, found,  as  the  world  would  say,  by 
chance,  this  hitherto  reckless  sinner  had 
learned  to  flee  for  refuge  to  the  hope  set 


PADDEEN   FINDING    THE    SCRIPTURES. 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INOT8KERRY.     169 

before  him,  and  to  seek  for  admittance  to 
the  heavenly  inheritance,  alone  through 
the  righteousness  of  his  redeeming  Sav- 
iour. 

He  afterward  procured  a  Bible.  How 
much  he  valued  this  we  have  already 
seen,  and  how  his  knowledge  of  it  was 
afterward  blessed  to  poor  Larry.  The 
boy  Paddeen  also,  through  God's  blessing 
on  the  perusal  of  it,  has  been  led  to  the 
Saviour's  feet,  and  has  learned  to  esteem 
the  reproach  of  Christ  greater  riches  than 
all  the  treasures  of  this  world. 


CHAPTEK  XIH. 

0  WOULD  that  I  could  draw  a  vail  over 
the  sad  and  dreary  future!     But  no:    it 
were  to  hide  the  just  dealings  of  Almighty 
Wisdom  and  Sovereign  Love  ! 

1  scarcely   remember  a   more   lovely 
evening  than  that  of  the  1.5th  of  August. 


170     THE  FISHER-BOY   OF  INNISKERRY. 

The  extreme  warmth  of  the  air  would 
have  been  oppressive,  but  for  the  gentle 
and  balmy  breezes  from  time  to  time 
wafted  over  the  waters.  How  calm  and 
still  were  those  deceitful  waters,  as,  re- 
flecting Heaven's  own  light,  they  lay 
outstretched  before  us, 

"  Deeply,  darkly,  beautifully  blue." 

The  sun  was  near  its  setting,  and  its  last 
golden  rays  were  dancing  with  fitful  luster 
upon  the  stern  rocks :  now  lighting  the  en- 
trance to  some  dark  cavern,  now  smiling 
upon  the  many-colored  heaths  or  herbage 
scattered  around ;  again  stretching  away 
into  a  long  line  of  softened  light  upon 
the  sparkling  sea;  and  finally  resting  its 
laughing  beams  upon  the  merry  group 
assembled  round  the  fishing-boats.  What 
numbers  that  evening  saw  their  dearest 
earthly  treasures  embark  upon  those  frail 
vessels  without  the  shadow  of  fear  or 
mistrust!  "Wives  parted  with  their  hus- 
bands, children  with  their  fathers,  mothers 


THE   FISHEK-BOY    OF   INNISKERRY.     1?1 

with  their  sons.  Among  the  latter  was 
Alice,  whose  tall  form  we  recognized, 
busy  in  stowing  on  board  her  husband's 
little  bark  everything  that  affection  could 
suggest,  or  her  slender  means  afford  to 
her  idolized  child. 

"Hurrah,  boys!"  cried  one  of  the  men, 
"  where's  the  use  of  dilly-dallying  ?  let  us 
be  off." 

"Stop  a  little  for  Dermot,"  said  an- 
other ;  "  he's  off  for  something  he  forgot. 
Here  he  is !  musha,  'tis  the  book,  I'll  be 
bound :  he  wouldn't  leave  that  after  him." 

"I  wouldn't  then,"  said  Dermot,  who 
now  appeared  with  his  usual  bright,  hap- 
py smile.  "What  business  would  we 
have  of  a  boat  without  a  rudder?  And 
this  is  the  best  rudder,  for  'twill  steer  us 
beyant  this  world !" 

"Slawn  agaeth,  and  God  keep  you, 
cushla  ma  cree!"  said  Alice,  embracing 
him  :  "  may  the  Lord  bless  you,  Dermot, 
my  lanna,  and  bring  the  both  yees  safe 
home  to  me  again,  avourneen!" 


172     THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNI8KEKRY. 

"  Amen,  then !"  resounded  from  many 
a  cheerful  voice.  The  word  was  given, 
and  the  five  well-manned  boats  departed. 


CHAPTEK  XIY. 

THAT  night  I  was  aroused  from  sleep  by 
the  deep  booming  sound  reverberating 
along  the  shore,  which  is  ominous  of  an 
approaching  storm.  I  thought  of  the 
boats/  and  sat  up  to  listen.  A  sudden 
and  violent  gust  of  wind  shook  the  house : 
another  and  another  followed.  I  could 
no  longer  sleep ;  and  rising,  I  dressed 
myself,  and  ran  to  a  window  from  which 
the  shore  was  visible.  There  I  perceived 
lights  moving  quickly  backward  and  for- 
ward. I  was  soon  joined  by  Yernon, 
and  we  proceeded  to  the  beach,  to  try 
what  aid  we  could  afford  to  the  poor 
terrified  villagers.  What  a  scene  was 
there !  - 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF    INN1SKERRY.     173 

The  night  was  fearfully  dark.  We 
hung  out  lights  in  all  directions;  but 
the  rain  and  wind  as  quickly  extinguished 
them.  We  kindled  a  large  fire,  which 
we  continued  to  feed  as  long  as  we  could 
get  fuel.  At  length  the  morning  began 
to  dawn,  and  exhibited  on  all  sides  devas- 
tation and  woe.  All  that,  long,  fearful 
day  the  storm  continued  to  rage  with  un- 
abated fury.  Weeds,  wrack,  fragments 
of  trees,  all  were  tossed  about  in  a  mingled 
mass  of  ruin,  while  the  wild  sea-birds 
added  their  "weak,  complaining  cry"  to 
the  unrestrained  and  loud  lamentings  of 
the  poor  terrified  villagers.  Vainly, 
vainly,  did  they  watch  and  weep,  and 
watch  again,  for  one  glimpse  of  the  boats. 
In  some,  suspense  gave  way  to  despair; 
in  others,  to  hope. 

Among  the  last  was  Alice.  She  had 
been  all  night  wandering  up  and  down 
the  beach,  her  dark  hair  streaming  wildly 
to  the  winds,  and  her  eyes  haggard  and 
swollen  with  weeping.  She  exclaimed, 

Ellen  and  Sarah.  11 


174     THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKFJZBY. 

endeavoring  to  be  cheeiful, " I kno  tf  they're 
safe;  they  can't  but  be;  they  put  into 
Innisraullen  port  when  they  seen  the 
storm  coming,  I'll  be  bound.  .  They're 
safe,  they're  safe;  never  fear!  God 
Almighty's  above  'em,  to  keep  'em  from 
harm,  his  holy  name  be  praised !" 

But  poor  Alice  had  forgotten  that  she 
had  never  sought  the  Lord  while  he  might 
be  found.  In  the  midst  of  his  mercies  she 
turned  her  back  upon  him ;  and  she  now 
expected  that  her  offended  God  would 
avert  from  her  the  calamity  which  her 
own  idolatry  had  called  down  upon  her. 


CHAPTEK  XY. 

Two  weary  days  did  these  poor  creatures 
spend  in  vain  expectation. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  second,  as  we 
were  again  proceeding  along  the  beach, 
we  observed  something  at  a  little  distance 


EEJIHOT'S   BODY  DISCOVERED. 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKEERT.      177 

floating  on  the  water.  In  dreadful  sus- 
pense we  watched  each  returning  wave. 
At  length  one  long,  rolling  billow  swept 
in  the  object  of  our  anxiety  close  to  where 
we  stood.  It  was  a  human  form  !  Imme- 
diately another  billow  succeeded.  And 
how  shall  I  describe  our  feelings  when  we 
recognized  in  the  pale  corpse,  the  sunken 
features  and  glazed  eyes  of  the  once  bright 
and  blooming  Dermot?  His  soft  curly 
hair,  of  which  his  poor  mother  had  been  so 
vain,  was  dripping  with  the  briny  waters. 
Not  a  ray  of  color  remained  in  his  cheeks; 
his  hands,  in  the  stiffness  of  death,  were 
tightly  clasped  across  his  breast.  With 
some  difficulty  we  disengaged  them ;  and, 
opening  his  waistcoat  to  try  if  any  pulse 
yet  throbbed,  we  found,  laid  next  to  the 
once  warm  and  beating  heart,  which  had 
in  life  so  fondly  cherished  it,  his  own 
treasured  Bible — "  The  story  of  peace  !" 
Yes,  blessed  Dermot,  it  was  to  thee, 
while  on  earth,  a  story  of  peace,  of  joy, 
of  love !  And  it  was  thy  guiding  star  to 


178     THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKERRY. 

lead  thee  to  thy  home  of  peace  above  ; 
even  to  the  bosom  of  thy  reconciled  Father 
and  God! 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

"\VELL  was  it  for  poor  Alice  that  her 
restless  anxiety  had  led  her  to  walk  to  a 
coast-guard  station  nearly  four  miles  dis- 
tant, to  make  inquiries,  which  had  been 
asked  and  answered  many  a  time. 

During  her  absence  we  had  all  that  re- 
mained of  her  poor  boy  carried  into  the 
house,  and  laid  upon  his  bed.  O*!  it  was 
a  sad,  sad  sight.  There  were  seen  the 
woodbine,  the  rose,  and  the  beautiful  white 
jasmine,  with  its  deep  green  leaves  and 
its  pure  star-like  flowers.  They  had  been 
trained  by  Dermot's  own  hand,  and  softly 
they  smiled  in  the  glad  light  of  the  even- 
ing sun ;  that  sun  whose  laughing  beams 
shone  with  .such  a  painful  contrast  into 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKEREY.      179 

the  little  room  where  his  cold  remains 
were  laid !  How  he  had  loved  to  train 
these  beautiful  children  of  nature  over 
the  whitewashed  walls  of  his  humble  but 
happy 'home  !  They  flourished  still  in  un- 
conscious loveliness ;  but  the  bright  coun- 
tenance, the  sunny  smile  which  had  glad- 
dened that  lonely  dwelling  Was  gone  for- 
ever! 

A  few  of  the  weeping  neighbors  en- 
deavored to  render  death's  awful  change 
a  little  less  appalling ;  but,  O !  no  appear- 
ance could  lessen  the  anguish  of  a  moth- 
er's breaking  heart !  And  when  Alice, 
who  had  heard  some  rumors  of  the  occur- 
rence, came  rushing  wildly  in,  and  beheld 
what  was  once  her  idol,  she  shrieked  fear- 
fully, and  fell  into  a  violent  hysteric  fit. 
Fit  after  fit  succeeded ;  and  her  state  be- 
came so  alarming  that  Yernon  sent  for  a 
physician,  who,  when  he  came,  bled  her 
profusely,  and  ordered  her  to  be  kept  in  a 
state  of  perfect  quiet. 


ISO      THE   FISI1ER-LOY   OF   LNNISKEERY. 


CHAPTEK  XVII. 

WE  shall  now  leave  her  for  a  while  to 
give  some  account  of  the  remainder  of  the 
boat's  company. 

Not  long  after  we  left  poor  Alice  three 
men  arrived,  to  the  inexpressible  joy  of 
their  nearly  distracted  wives.  From  them 
we  learned  that,  with  the  exception  of 
Dermot,  two  men,  and  one  little  boy,  all 
had  escaped. 

"We  were  rejoiced  to  find  that  Larry 
survived,  though"  so  exhausted  from  fa- 
tigue and  anxiety  about  his  son  as  to  be 
unable  to  leave  the  house  where  he  had 
taken  shelter. 

The  boats,  they  said,  had  proceeded  to 
a  greater  distance  than  usual.  On  the  first 
symptoms  of  the  approaching  storm  they 
had  endeavored  to  gain  the  nearest  port. 
But  the  wind  rose  so  suddenly  and  violent- 


THE   FISHEK-BOY   OF   INNISKERKY.       181 

ly,  and  the  waves  rolled  against  them  with 
such  tumultuous  force  that  all  their  ef- 
forts were  unavailing.  A  sudden  squall 
had  upset  Larry's  boat,  and  plunged  the 
whole  crew  into  the  waters,  while  the 
darkness  of  the  night  precluded  all  hope 
of  saving  one  another.  They  all  tried  to 
swim  to  the  nearest  land,  where  they  per- 
ceived lights  were  hung  out.  Larry  and 
Dermot  had  kept  together  as  long  as  pos- 
sible. 

At  length  Larry  discovered  that  Dermot 
was  no  longer  near  him,  and  his  agony 
was  so  great  that  his  companions  could 
scarce  prevail  on  him  to  proceed ;  but, 
recollecting  that  perhaps  Dermot  might 
have  got  nearer  to  land  than  they,  he 
made  a  great  effort  and  was  saved.  But 
so  exhausted  were  they,  that  he  and  sev- 
eral others  were  carried  in  a  state  of  per- 
feet  unconsciousness  to  the  house  of  the 
persons  who  still  kindly  harbored  them. 
Their  more  fortunate  companions,  who 
Lad  been  able  to  reach  the  shore  in  safety, 


182     THE  FISHER-BOY   OF   1NNISKERRY. 

now  anxiously  went  in  pursuit  of  Dermot, 
and  of  the  others  who  were  missing.  Two 
whole  days  did  they  spe'nd  in  this  vain 
search  ;  all  the  means  in  their  power  were 
used;  but  the  whole  was  useless.  The 
trembling  father  could  not  give  up  all 
hope ;  and  the  kind-hearted  men,  who 
had  remained  to  comfort  their  afflicted 
companions,  now  hastened  to  the  village 
to  learn  if  any  tidings  of  Dermot  had  ar- 
rived there. 

Yernon,  hearing  this,  resolved  to  go 
himself  to  convey  the  melancholy  news. 
The  little  terrier,  Dermot's  favorite  com- 
panion, followed  us.  Even  his  bright  eyes 
wore  an  expression  of  sadness,  and  his  low, 
melancholy  whine  as  he  licked  the  lifeless 
hand  of  his  young  master  went  to  many  a 
heart.  He  now  trotted  on  before,  not  aa 
his  wont,  with  tail  and  ears  erect,  but  with 
a  drooping  head  and  nose  to  the  ground 
lie  pursued  his  road,  uttering  now  and 
again  his  dismal  howl,  till  we  approached 
the  house  where  Larry  was.  Led  by  his 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKERRY.      183 

instinct,  the  poor  little  animal  rushed  im- 
petuously forward,  and  was  in  Larry's 
arms  before  he  had  time  to  see  us.  He 
started  up,  and  cried  out,  "  What  news, 
sir?  is  Dermot  — " 

Here  the  dog  moaned  piteously ;  and 
that,  together  with  Yernon's  expressive 
countenance,  told  all.  Poor  Larry,  cov- 
ering his  face  with  both  his  hands,  wept 
long,  bitterly,  and  silently ;  wept  in  heart- 
rending anguish.  At  length,  when  his 
sobs  permitted  him,  he  said,  "  My  blessed 
boy !  My  poor,  poor  Alice !  -I  must  go  to 
her." 

Yernon  told  him  of  her  state  in  as  gen- 
tle terms  as  possible ;  and  with  great  diffi- 
culty persuaded  him  to  remain  one  night 
more  with  his  hospitable  friends.  Having 
related  to  him  the  place  in  which  Der- 
mot's  Bible  was  found,  he  took  it  from  his 
pocket  and  gave  it  to  him.  The  poor  fel- 
low pressed  it  in  silence  to  his  lips,  and 
covered  it  with  tears.  Yernon  then  spoke 
a  few  words  of  comfort  to  him,  and  ex- 


184:     THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKERKY. 

horted  him  to  implore  the  aid  of  his  heav- 
enly Father,  both  for  himself  and  for 
Alice,  under  this  overwhelming  affliction  ; 
and  then,  preparing  to  depart,  he  called 
to  the  dog  to  accompany  him ;  but  the 
little  creature  only  nestled  itself  the  closer 
to  poor  Larry,  and  looked  up  into  his  face 
with  such  a  look  of  real  sorrow,  that  it 
again  called  forth  a  flood  of  bitter  tears. 
He  sobbed  out,  "O,  sir!  leave  him; 
leave  him  with  me :  he  loved  my  child, 
and  my  child  loved  him ;  and  I'll  never, 
never  part  with  him  !"  And  taking  him 
In  his  trembling  arms,  he  fondled  him 
like  a  child. 


CHAPTER  XVIH. 

MEANWHILE,  poor  Alice's  illness  rapidly 
increased,  and  a  violent  fever  seized  her. 

Totally  deprived  of  reason,  she  called 
loudly  on  her  husband  and  child,  and 


TIIE    FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKERRY.     185 

earnestly  begged  them  not  to  forsake  her. 
The  next  moment  she  would  start  up  with 
vehemence  and  exclaim :  "  They  took 
him  from  me !  .Give  him  back !  Give 
back  my  child,  I  say !"  And  then  would 
sink  back  exhausted  on  her  pillow. 

She  continued  in  this  state  for  some 
days ;  and  when  poor  Larry  returned  to 
his  now  mournful  home,  she  seemed  not 
to  recognize  him  in  the  smallest  degree. 
Thus  she  remained  for  a  week,  during 
which  time  we  daily  visited  her  cottage. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ENTERING  suddenly  one  day,  we  found 
Larry  seated  on  a  stool,  near  a  low  table, 
on  which  he  had  stretched  out  both  his 
arms,  while  with  his  hands  he  had 
covered  his  face,  so  that  he  did  not 
perceive  us. 

"  Larry,"  said  Yernon. 


186     THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   I3TNISKERRY. 

He  started  up,  and  we  beheld  a  coun- 
tenance bedewed  with  tears,  and  marked 
with  traces  of  deeper  dejection  than  we 
had  yet  observed. 

"O,  sir!  what  will  I  do?"  he  cried; 
"  what  will  I  do  ?  She  isn't  a  bit  better ; 
and  they  say,  without  she  gets  a  coolin' 
to-day,  they  don't  think  she  will  this  side 
twenty-one ;  and,  och  hone !  your  honor, 
sure  with  the  raging  fever  that's  on  her, 
she'll  be  lost  entirely  !" 

By  this  Larry  meant  to  say,  that  if  her  dis- 
order did  not  that  day  come  to  a  crisis,  it  was 
not  likely  to  take  place  till  the  twenty-first 
day  ;  and  he  feared,  from  the  violence  of 
the  fever,  that  by  that  time  her  strength 
would  be  completely  exhausted. 

Yernon  was,  indeed,  what  the  Apostle 
Paul  so  beautifully  describes  himself  to 
be,  Gentle -among  his  people,  even  as  a 
nurse  cherisheth  her  children. 

"Larry,"  said  he,  in  the  mildest  tone, 
"  is  your  faith  beginning  to  fail  ?" 

"  O,  master  dear,"   replied  Larry,  "I 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKEKRY.     187 

think  I  have  faith  sometimes ;  but  when 
I  looks  at  her,  and  when  I  thinks  of  him 
that's  gone,  it  all  goes  from  me,  and  I'm 
tossicated  and  broken-hearted  entirely. 
Qph  hone !  my  child !  my  darling !  my 
son!  my  joy!  And  you,  too,  my  wife, 
my  poor  Alice,  wirrastrua!  Och  hone! 
och  hone !" 

Here  the  poor  man  wept  like  an  in- 
fant. 

Dermot's  Bible  lay  on  the  table,  and 
Vernon,  taking  it  up,  read  the  following 
verses :  "  He  shall  call  upon  me,  and  I 
will  -answer  him  ;  I  will  be  with  him  in 
trouble ;  I  will  deliver  him,  and  honor 
him."  Psalm  xci,  15. 

Larry  made  no  reply,  and  he  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  Call  upon  me  in  the  day  of  trouble ; 
I  will  deliver  thee,  and  thou  shalt  glorify 
me."  Psalm  1,  15. 

"  Thou  shalt  make  thy  prayer  unto  the 
Lord,  and  he  shall  hear  thee."  Job 
xxii,  27. 


188     THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INXISKERRY. 

"  Hear  my  prayer,  O  God  !  attend  unto 
my  cry.  From  the  ends  of  the  earth  will 
I  cry  unto  thee,  when  my  heart  is  over- 
whelmed within  me.  Lead  me  to  the 
Rock  that  is  higher  than  I."  PsaUn 
Ixi,  1,  2. 

"Ah,  sir!"  said  Larry,  "it  is  very 
beautiful :  if  I  could  pray." 

"My  poor  friend,"  replied  Yernon; 
"  in  the  day  of  prosperity  you  could  call 
upon  God;  and  will  you  not  in  the  day 
of  adversity  ?" 

"God  help  me!"  he  answered;  "the 
sorrow  has  put  me  all  astray !  "Will-  your 
reverence  pray  ?" 

Yernon  khelt  down,  and  with  deep 
fervor  appeared  to  address  the  God  who 
heareth  prayer.  As  his  words  were  Irish, 
I  could  not  understand  them;  but  the 
earnest  tremulousness  of  his  voice,  and 
the  glistening  of  his  heaven-directed  eye, 
showed  how  his  whole  soul  was  engaged 
in  the  work.  Larry  knelt  also,  and  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hands;  but  many 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKERRY.     189 

a  tear  forced  its  way  through  his  closed  fin- 
gers. He  remained  on  his  knees  for  some 
minutes  after  Vernon  had  ceased  to  pray ; 
and  when  he  arose,  though  he  still  looked 
melancholy  and  dejected,  his  countenance 
had  lost  its  former  expression  of  despair- 
ing misery. 

"There's  a  peace,  sir,"  he  said,  "that 
earth  can't  give;  for  it  comes  when  the 
heart  turns  away  from  earth  entirely." 

"Yes,  Larry;  it  is  the  gift  of  God 
alone.  '  Peace  I  leave  with  you,  my 
peace  I  give  unto  you,'  is  the  promise  of 
our  blessed  Redeemer ;  and  if  the  tempter 
tries  to  rob  you  of  that  peace,  lift  up  your 
heart  at  once  to  Him  whose  goodness  you 
have  experienced.  Though  you  may  not 
be  able  with  your  tongue  to  pray,  yet 
let  your  heart  come  before  the  Lord,  who 
has  said  :  '  Before  they  call,  I  will  answer; 
and  while  they  are  yet  speaking,  I  will 
hear.'  And,  'May  the  peace  of  God, 
which  passeth  all  understanding,  keep 
your  heart  and  mind  in  the  knowledge 


190     THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   IXNTSKERKT. 

and  love  of  God,  and  of  his  Son  Jesus 
Christ.'" 

"Amen!"  was  all  poor  Larry  could  ut- 
ter ;  but  he  wrung  Vernon's  offered  hand 
with  an  almost  convulsive  grasp. 

His  prayers  were  heard ;  for  that  very 
night  Alice  got  some  hours'  quiet  sleep, 
after  which  she  appeared  decidedly  bet- 
ter. 

From  that  time  her  bodily  health 
rapidly  improved ;  and  in  about  a  fort- 
night after  she  was  able  to  sit  up  in  her 
wicker  arm-chair.  But,  alas!  the  sudden 
shock  which  she  had  received,  and  the 
violent  fever  which  had  succeeded,  had 
been  too  much  for  her  mind  to  bear,  and 
her  reason  was  gone ! 


THE   FISHEB-BOY   OF   INNISKEKKY.     191 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FOR  some  weeks  after  her  illness,  Alice 
remained  in  apparent  unconsciousness  of 
what  had  happened ;  and  would,  in  plaint- 
ive tones,  ask  why  Dermot  was  so  long 
in  coming.  Then  she  would  burst  into  a 
wild,  convulsive  laugh,  which  pierced  to 
^the  ver;f  heart  of  her  bereaved  husband. 

In  this  state  she  continued  a  consider- 
able time ;  at  some  periods  extremely 
violent,  at  others,  perfectly  quiescent, 
until  one  day  an  incident  occurred  which 
appeared  to  alter  the  current  of  her  ideas. 

In  one  of  our  visits  we  were  accom- 
panied by  Mrs.  Vernon,  and  a  little  boy, 
who  was  a  great  favorite  with  Alice. 
For  a  few  minutes  she  talked  to  us  in  her 
usual  incoherent  strain  ;  then,  starting  up 
with  a  solemn  countenance,  and  with 
considerable  dignity  of  manner,  she  ap- 
proached Mrs.  Yernon,  saying,  "Mrs. 

Ellen  and  Sarah.  1  2 


192     THE   FISHER-BOY    OF    INNISKEKRY. 

Yernon,  do  you  love  your  child?  Have 
you  the  feelings  of  a  mother?  ay,  tell 
me,  have  you?" 

Mrs.  Yernon  replied -only  with  tears. 

Alice  again  exclaimed :  "  You  have,  I 
see  you  have!  I  see  it  in  your  eyes. 
Then  tell  me,  Where  is  Dermoti"  She 
pronounced  the. last  words  slowly,  firmly, 
and  distinctly. 

Mrs.  Yernon  hesitated  to  reply,  when 
Alice  almost  screamed,  "Tell  me,  I  say  I 
where's  my  child?  Why  does  he  not 
come  back  ?" 

Yernon's  little  boy  gently  took  her 
hand,  saying,  "Dermot  will  come  no 
more,  Alice." 

"Come  no  more,  child!  come  no  more  ! 
"Where  is  he  gone  to  ?"  she  said. 

The  child  calmly  raised  his  eyes  to  her 
perturbed  and  agitated  countenance ;  and 
then,  pointing  to  the  sky,  he  said,  "  He's 
up  there,  in  heaven,  Alice  ;  he's  waiting 
for  you  to  come  there.'* 

These  few  words  seemed  to  have  re- 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNISKERRY.      193 

moved  the  cloud  from  her  mind,  and  to 
have  burst  the  flood-gates  of  her  grief. 
She  clasped  the  little  one  to  her  heart,  an<i 
gave  way  to  an  agony  of  tears — tears  which 
we  did  not  attempt  to  restrain ;  for  they 
seemed  to  be  a  sweet  and  salutary  relief 
to  her  oppressed  heart  and  burning  brain. 
At  length  she  gave  expression  to  her  va- 
ried and  confused  feelings  in  the  follow- 
ing words : 

"  Dermot,  my  child !  light  of  my  eyes ! 
darling  of  my  heart !  why  do  you  wait  so 
long?  Your  father's  here — the  boat's  ready 
— the  sea's  smooth — the  bright  sun  is 
shining — even  the  dog  looks  up  at  me, 
and  wonders.  Why  won't  you  come,  my 
lannaf  But  my  flower  is  cut  down  !  he'll 
blossom  no  more!  my  pretty  bird  will 
never  sing  again  !  Och  hone!  my  heart's 
jewel !  but  you're  up  there  above  us ! 
Are  you,  honey  ?  Yes,  cushla  ma  cree, 
you  are.  You're  looking  at  me  ;  and  one 
you  loved  is  keeping  you  from  me ;  and 
you  won't  come  to  your  own  poor  mother, 


104:      THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INOTSKEKRY. 

Her  heart  is  broke,  is  broke,  is  broke  en- 
tirely !  The  praties  is  boiled,  my  darling, 
^nd  the  laine  goirt*  is  ready;  and  the 
laine  milis^  if  you  like  it  better,  ma  vour- 
neen  ;  and  you  won't  come !  you  won't ! 
O,  wirra !  wirra !  you  won't !  Och  mairg 
dawmsha,  mairg  dawmsha!^.  O,  avick 
ma  vourneen !  avick,  avick  ma  cree  !  § 

No  restraint  was  put  upon  the  expres- 
sion of  her  grief;  and  she  continued  all 
that  day  in  constant  fits  of  weeping  and 
lamentation.  At  last,  wearied  and  worn 
out,  she  lay  down  to  rest;  tired  nature 
sunk  into  a  sweet  and  refreshing  sleep  ; 
and  she  awoke  next  morning  without  (as 
she  said)  "the  fire  that  was  about  her 
head  and  heart." 

0  Sour  milk.        f  Sweet  milk.          J  Woe  is  me. 
§  0  my  beloved  son,  my  son,  the  son  of  my  heart 


THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   tSTNISKEKKY.       195 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THUS  we  may  see  the  very  differ- 
ent effects  of  affliction  upon  different 
hearts. 

'Larry's  feelings  were  not  less  ardent, 
nor  were  his  affections  less  warm,  than 
those  of  Alice.  His  heart,  too,  had  been 
so  closely  drawn  to  his  cherished  child, 
that,  with  Jacob,  it  seemed  as  if  his  life 
was  bound  up  in  the  lad's  life.  But  his 
was  a  chastened  and  purified  affection. 
"While  Alice  gave  herself  up  to  all  the 
idolizing  fondness  of  a  doting  mother, 
forgetful  that  the  object  of  her  love  was 
in  the  hands  of  Him,  who,  having  power 
to  give,  has  also  power  to  take  away, 
Larry's  heart  was  drawn  by  the  cords  of 
gratitude  from  the  gift  to  the  gracious 
Giver  ;  and  each  endearing  quality  in  the 
character  of  his  son  only  gave  him  fresh 


196      THE   FISHER-BOY    OF   INNISKEERY. 

reason  for  thankfulness  to  Him  who  Lad 
endued  him  with  these  gifts. 

When  the  blow  came,  the. sudden  and 
awful  blow,  which  severed  them  forever 
in  this  world,  though  stricken  to  the  very 
soul,  and  for  a  while  bowed  down  beneath 
the  weight  of  woe,  yet  never  for  a  moment 
did  he  question  the  dealings  of  his  heav- 
enly Father.  Meekly  submissive,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  I  shall  go  to  him,  but  he  shall 
not  return  to  me  !"  "Thou,  Lord,  doest  all 
things  well;  he  was  thine.  Thy  will,  not 
mine,  be  done." 

Alice,  on  the  contrary,  had  looked  upon 
this  precious  boy  as  all  her  own.  She  had 
thought  a  mother's  fondness  could  shield 
him  from  every  ill.  She  had  never  al- 
lowed herself  to  admit  the  possibility  of 
his  removal  from  her.  She  had  turned 
willfully  from  the  thought  of  her  Divine 
benefactor.  Hence,  when  the  hour  of 
trial  came  she  sank  at  once.  She  had 
contemned  the  idea  that  God  would  rob 
her  of  her  treasure  ;  and  when  his  mercy 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF   INNTSKEKRY.      197 

saw  fit  to  withdraw  her  heart's  idol,  she 
fell  powerless  and  wretched  beneath  the 
stroke.  He  had  spoken  softly  to  her  soul, 
but  she  had  refused  him  admittance,  and 
in.  the  hour  of  desolation  he  was  not  to  be 
found.  He  had  withdrawn  himself,  and 
was  gone.  But  it  was  only  for  a  time. 
It  was  not  his  will  that  this  stricken  one 
should  perish.  The  day  was  coming  when 
she,  too,  was  to  hear  his  voice,  and  be  led 
into  his  fold. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  FEW  days  after  this  sudden  revulsion 
in  the  mind  of  poor  Alice,  we  again  vis- 
ited her  cottage. 

The  kitchen  was  empty,  and  Mrs.  Yer- 
non,  softly  entering  the  bed-room,  beheld 
a  sight,  new  indeed,  but  how  delight- 
ful !  Alice  was  on  her  knees :  her  hands 
were  clasped  together,  and  her  whole 


198      THE   FISUER-BOY    OF    1NNISKERKY. 

soul  seemed  to  ascend  with  each  petition 
to  her  God. 

Mrs.  Yernon's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
She  gently  closed  the  door,  without  being 
perceived  by  Alice,  and  we  left  the 
house. 

l$ot  far  distant  we  met  Larry,  who  ac- 
costed us  with  "  Good  morning  to  your 
honor's  reverence.  Were  you  along  with 
Alice,  Mi&tis?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Yernon  told  him  what  she  had  just 
seen  ;  •nd  he  replied  :  "Ah,  Mistis  dear, 
the  Lord's  ways  is  wonderful !  Share,  after 
all  that  he  sent  upon  us,  and  after  the  senses 
was  druv  out  of  her  entirely,  the  dear 
knows,  but  he's  bringing  her  back  now, 
and  turning  her  to  hisself.  She  do  be 
ever  and  always  axing  me  to  read  the  book 
to  her  ;  and  she  crying  like  an  infant,  not 
for  her  trouble  at  all ;  but  all  her  talk  is, 
that  she  is  a  great  sinner." 

"Ah,  Larry!"  answered  Mrs.  Yernon, 
"  we  may  see  now  why  it  was  the  Lord 
saw  fit  thus  to  afflict  you." 


TIIE   FISHER-BOY    OF   LNNISKEKRY.      199 

"  Wisha,  ma'am,  I  do  see  it,  your  honor," 
said  he ;  "  and  long  ago  I  seen  it ;  and, 
though  I  haven't  faith  enough  to  be  glad 
— though  it  broke  the  very  core  of  rny 
heart — -I'm  not  sorry." 

Poor  Alice !  though  the  Lord  had  af- 
flicted, he  had  not  forsaken  her;  and  that 
proud,  unyielding  heart,  which  had  re- 
fused to  bend,  was  melted  by  the  all-pow- 
erful beams  of  the  Divine  Spirit.  She 
had,  as  it  were,  exclaimed  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  her  grief,  "  Is  it  nothing  to  you, 
all  ye  that  pass  by  ?  Behold  and  see  if 
there  be  any  sorrow  like  unto  my  sorrow, 
wherewith  the  Lord  hath  afflicted  me  in 
the  day  of  his  fierce  anger." 

But  a  friend  was  at  hand,  and  her  pious 
husband  had  whispered  to  her :  "  God 
doth  not  WILLINGLY  afflict,  or  grieve  the 
children  of  men.  Let  us  then  search  our 
hearts,  and  try  our  ways."  And  earnestly 
had  he  besought  the  Lord  to  aid  them  in 
the  work,  and  finally  to  "  lead  them  in  the 
way  everlasting." 


200        THE    FISHER-BOY    OF   LNNISKEKKY. 

What  the  result  was,  we  shall  perceive 
from  the  words  of  Alice  herself. 

In  one  of  Mrs.  Yernon's  almost  daily 
visits,  Alice  exclaimed,  "Ah,  ma'am!  I 
was  very  unhappy  last  night;  I  was  awake 
all  night,  thinking." 

"  Thinking  of  what,  Alice  ?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Yernon. 

"  "Why,  ma'am,  your  honor,  thinking  of 
everything  that  happened  :  and  I  was  get- 
ting very  angry  with  the  Lord,  to  say 
he'd  take  my  only  one  from  me,  and  spare 
theirs  that  has  plenty.  There's  Nelly 
Regan  and  Kathleen  M' Car" thy,  and  all  of 
'em  has  a  houseful;  and  my  beautiful 
child,  my  diamond,  my  only  one,  in  his 
could,  dark  grave !"  Here  she  began  to 
weep  bitterly. 

Mrs.  Yernon  replied:  "And  did  you 
allow  yourself  to  give  way  to  such  feel- 
ings, my  poor  Alice  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am ;  I  began  to  think  of  what 
Larry  often  tells  me,  that  the  Lord  never 
willii)(j1y  afflicts;  and,  says  I  to  myself, 


THE  FISHER-BOY   OP  INNISKEKKY.      201 

there  surely  must  be  some  reason  for  it. 
And  ah,  ma'am !  with  a  scalding  heart  I 
called  to  mind  the  time,  and  it  wasn't 
once  nor  twice,  but  many  and  many  a 
time,  that  I  said,  I  wouldn't  give  up  my 
child.  And  I  usedn't  to  care  at  all  about 
the  Lord,  nor  wouldn't  hearken  to  his 
word  at  all :  only  for  I  thought  it  would 
pleasure  my  poor  boy,  I  did  sometimes." 

"  And  you  see,  Alice,  that  the  merciful 
Lord  loved  you  too  well  to  allow  you  to 
go  on  in  your  sin." 

"I  do,  ma'am;  I  do.  'Tis  his  love 
makes  me  cry,  and  not  his  anger  at  all. 
O,  what  wonderful  love  he  has  for  us  poor 
creatures !  Sure  he  had  a  right  to  let  me 
go  on  in  my  wickedness  to  the  end,  and 
to  destroy  me  forever.  And  what  did  I 
do  to  deserve  his  love,  or  what  will  I  ever 
do  for  him,  poor  sinner  as  I  am  ?" 

Here  this  poor  humbled  creaifc-e  wept 
again,  with  the  overwhelming  sense  of 
her  Redeemer's  love. 

"We  did  nothing  to  deserve  his  love, 


202     THE   FISHER-BOY  OF 

Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Yernon.  "While  we 
were  yet  sinners,  he  first  loved  us.  Of 
his  own  will  he  laid  down  his  life  for  us. 
No  man  took  it  from  him  ;  but  he  laid  it 
down  of  himself,  that  his  sheep  might  hear 
his  voice,  and  follow  him,  and  live." 

"  And  O,  ma'am !"  cried  Alice,  clasp- 
ing her  poor,  worn  hands  together,  "  can 
we  do  nothing  for  him  ?" 

"  We  can,  Alice  ;  and  it  is  a  very  small 
thing  he  asks." 

"That's  our  hearts,  ma'am,"  she  replied, 
quickly;  "and- that's  what  I  refused. 
O,  a  weenach,  how  could  I  love  even 
you  better  nor  Him?  My  blessed  boy, 
you  often  told  me  that,  and  I  didn't  givo 
heed.  How  could  I  be  so  hardened 
entirely  ?  O,  ma'am !  there's  light  on  it 
all  now!  He  took  what  kept  my  heart 
from  him,  and  blinded  my  poor  eyes  from 
his  lovJfc  And  'twas  all  to  save  the  soul 
of  one  who  never  loved  him !  And  his 
name  be  praised !  His  holy  name  be 
praised!"  said  she,  reverently  courtesying; 


THE   FISHER-BOY   OF  INNISKERP.Y.       203 

"'tis  the  first  time  I  said  it  since  I  lost 
my  jewel!" 

Alice  daily  went  on,  drinking  water 
from  the  wells  of  salvation,  and,  under  the 
teaching  of  her  husband,  by  the  Spirit's 
aid,  "growing  in  grace,  and  in  the 
knowledge  of  her  Lord  and  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ."  Instead  of  a  proud,  self- 
satisfied  worldling,  she  is  now  become 
one  of  the  meekest  of  believing  Christians. 
Deeply  sensible  of  her  own  un worthiness, 
she  casts  herself,  in  childlike  confidence, 
upon  her  Eedeemer. 

The  last  time  I  visited  my  friends,  I 
found  her  and  Larry  still  living  "in  the 
unity  of  the  Spirit,  in  the  bond  of  peace, 
and  in  righteousness  of  life." 

There  is  in  the  churchyard  of  Innis- 
kerry  a  lowly  grave,  beneath  the  shade 
of  a  beautiful  cypress.  There  rests  all 
that  is  mortal  of  the  happy  Dermot ;  and 
Vernon's  children  have  decked  their 
young  favorite's  tomb  with  a  variety  of 
]ovely  flowers.  There,  the  first  pale  prim- 


204     THE   FISHER-BOY  OF   INNISKERRY. 

rose  is  seen  to  blossom ;  and  there,  in 
their  season,  the  sweet-scented  violet  and 
the  lily  of  the  valley  spread  their  richest 
fragrance. 

]Sro  stone  marks  the  spot ;  but  bereaved 
affection  loves  to  linger  there ;  and  often 
has  the  green  sod  been  moistened  by  the 
sorrowful  tears,  of  the  lonely  parents. 

There  Alice  comes  each  evening  to 
muse  upon  the  dead.  With  her  apron 
rolled  over  her  arm,  she  sits  and  rocks 
herself  backward  and  forward  in  unison 
with  the  winds,  which,  whistling  through 
the  trees,  seem  as  it  were  to  utter  a 
requiem  for  the  dead.  But  she  sits  there, 
not  to  mourn  or  bewail ;  but,  turning  her 
heart  and  her  thoughts  to  the  God  of  her 
salvation,  and  to  the  unseen  world  above, 

"  She  lifts  the  eye  of  faith  to  heaven, 
And  thinks  '  my  child  is  there !' " 

THE    END. 


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